THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


^'T.J^'-f 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/cecilcastlemaineOOouid 


^^M^^nrnms 


CT. 


G^Lta^^i^^ 


CECIL  CASTLEMAINFS  GAGE, 

AND  OTHER  STORIES. 


CECIL  CASTLEMAINE'S  GAGE, 


LADY  MARABOUT'S  TROUBLES, 


OTHER    STORIES. 


By  "OUIDA,* 


utruoz  or  "ibaua,"  "  stkathmore,"  "chaitdos,"  "ORAjrviu^ 

DE   VIQNE,"   ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY. 

1896„ 


C3Z 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


TuE  PuBLiSHEES  have  the  pleasure  of  offering  to 
the  many  admirers  of  the  writings  of  "Ouida,"  the 
present  volume  of  Contributions,  which  have  appeared 
from  time  to  time  in  the  leading  Journals  of  Europe, 
and  which  have  recently  been  collected  and  revised  by 
the  author,  for  publication  in  book-form. 

They  have  also  in  press,  to  be  speedily  published, 
another  similar  volume  of  tales,  from  the  same  pen, 
togetlibi  with  an  unpublished  romance  entitled 
"Under  Two  Flags." 

Our  editions  of  Ouida's  Works  are  published  by 
express  arrangement  with  the  author;  and  any  other 
editions  that  may  anpear  in  the  American  market  will 
be  issued  in  violation  of  the  courtesies  usually  ex- 
tended both  to  authors  and  publishers. 

Philadelphia,  May,  18G7. 

(Tii) 


G23684 


PAGH 

CECIL  CASTLEMAINE'S   GAGE;    or,   The  Stoey  of  a 

Broidebed  Shield 11 

LITTLE    GRAND   AND   THE    MARCHIONESS;    or,   Our 

Maltese  Peerage 87 

LADY  MARABOUT'S   TROUBLES;   or.  The  Worries  op 
A  Chaperone.  —  In  Three  Seasons :  — 

Season  the  First.  — The  Eligible 84 

Season  the  Second.  —  The  Ogre 121 

Season  the  Third.  —The  Climax 164 


A  STUDY  A  LA  LOUIS  QUINZE ;  or,  Pendant  to  a  Pas- 
tel BY  La  Tour 211 

I.  The  First  Morning 212 

n.  The  Second  Morning 218 

m.  Midnight 227 

"DEADLY  DASH."     A  Story  told  on  the  Off  Day 285 

(ix) 


2  CONTENTS. 

PA6B 

THE   GENERAL'S   MATCH-MAKING;    oe,    Coaches  and 

CousiNSHiP 265 

THE  STORY  OF  A  CRAYON-HEAD;  on,  A  Doubled-down 

Leap  in  a  Man's  Life 306 

THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ   D'AZYR ;    or,    Not   at   all   a 

Pkoper  Person 339 

A  STUDY  A  LA  LOUIS  QUATORZE :    Pendant  to  a  Por- 
trait BT  Miqnard 368 


CECIL  CASTLEMAINE'S  GAGE ; 

OR, 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BROIDERED  SHIELD. 


ECIL  CASTLEMAINE  was  the  beauty  of  her 
county  and  her  line,  the  handsomest  of  all  the 
handsome  women  that  had  graced  her  race,  when 
she  moved,  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  down  the  stately 
staircase,  and  through  the  gilded  and  tapestried  halls  of 
Lilliesford.  The  Town  had  run  mad  after  her,  and  her 
face  levelled  politics,  and  was  cited  as  admiringly  by  the 
Whigs  at  St.  James's  as  by  the  Tories  at  the  Cocoa-tree, 
by  the  beaux  and  Mohocks  at  Garraway's  as  by  the 
alumni  at  the  Grecian,  by  the  wits  at  Will's  as  by  the 
fops  at  Ozinda's. 

Wherever  she  went,  whether  to  the  Haymarket  or  the 
Opera,  to  the  'Change  for  a  fan  or  the  palace  for  a  state 
ball,  to  Drury  Lane  to  see  Pastoral  Philips's  dreary 
dilution  of  Racine,  or  to  some  fair  chief  of  her  faction 
for  basset  and  ombre,  she  was  surrounded  by  the  best 
men  of  her  time,  and  hated  by  Whig  beauties  witli  viru- 
lent wrath,  for  she  was  a  Tory  to  the  backbone,  indeed  a 
Jacobite  at  heart ;  worshipped  Bolingbroke,  detested 
Marlborough  and  Eugene,  believed  in  all  the  horrors  of 
tne  programme  said  to  have  been  plotted  by  the  Whigs 
for  the  anniversary  show  of  1711,  and  was  thought  to 
have  prompted  the  satire  on  those  fair  politicians  who 

(11) 


12  CECIL  castlemaine's  qaqe. 

are  disguised  as  Rosalinda  and  Nigranilla  iu  the  Slst 
paper  of  the  Spectator. 

Cecil  Castlemaine  was  the  greatest  beauty  of  her  day, 
lovelier  still  at  four-and-twenty  than  she  had  been  at  seven- 
teen, unwedded,  though  the  highest  coronets  in  the  land 
had  been  offered  to  her;  far  above  the  coquetteries  and 
niiuauderies  of  her  friends,  far  above  imitation  of  the  affec- 
tations of  "  Lady  Betty  Modley's  skuttle,"  or  need  of  prac- 
tising the  Fan  exercise ;  haughty,  peerless,  radiant,  unwon 
—  nay,  more  —  untouched  ;  for  the  finest  gentleman  on  the 
town  could  not  flatter  himself  that  he  had  ever  stirred  the 
slightest  trace  of  interest  in  her,  nor  boast,  as  he  stood  in 
the  inner  circle  at  the  Chocolate-house  (unless,  indeed,  he 
lied  more  impudently  than  Tom  Wharton  himself),  that  he 
had  ever  been  honored  by  a  glance  of  encouragement  from 
the  Earl's  daughter.  She  was  too  proud  to  cheapen  her- 
self with  coquetry,  too  fastidious  to  care  for  her  conquests 
over  those  who  whispered  to  her  through  Nicolini's  song, 
vied  to  have  the  privilege  of  carrying  her  fan,  drove  past 
her  windows  in  Soho  Square,  crowded  about  her  in  St. 
James's  Park,  paid  court  even  to  her  little  spaniel  Inda- 
mara,  and,  to  catch  but  a  glimpse  of  her  brocaded  train 
as  it  swept  a  ball-room  floor,  would  leave  even  their  play 
at  the  Groom  Porter's,  Mrs.  Oldfield  iu  the  green-room, 
a  night  hunt  with  Mohun  and  their  brother  Mohocks,  a 
circle  of  wits  gathered  "  within  the  steam  of  the  coffee- 
pot" at  Will's,  a  dinner  at  Halifax's,  a  supper  at  Boling- 
broke's, — whatever,  according  to  their  several  tastes,  made 
their  best  entertainment  and  was  hardest  to  quit. 

The  highest  suitors  of  the  day  sought  her  smile  and 
sued  for  her  hand ;  men  left  the  Court  and  the  Mall  to 
join  the  Flanders  army  before  the  lines  at  Bouchain  lesa 
for  loyal  love  of  England  than  hopeless  love  of  Cecil 
Castlemaine.  Her  father  vainly  urged  her  not  to  fling 
away  offers  that  all  the  women  at  St.  James's  envied  her. 
She  was  untouched  and  unwon,  and  when  her  friends,  the 


CECIL    CASTLEMAINE'S    GAGE.  IS 

court  beauties,  the  fine  ladies,  tlie  coquettes  of  quality, 
rallied  her  on  her  coldness  (envying  her  her  conquests), 
she  would  smile  her  slight  proud  smile  and  bow  her 
stately  head.  "  Perhaps  she  was  cold ;  she  might  be ; 
they  were  personnable  men?  Oh  yes!  she  had  nothing 
to  say  against  them.  His  Grace  of  Belamour  ? — A  pretty 
wit,  without  doubt.  Lord  Millamont? — Diverting,  but 
a  coxcomb.  He  had  beautiful  hands ;  it  was  a  pity  he 
was  always  thinking  of  them  !  Sir  Gage  Rivers  ? — As 
obsequious  a  lover  as  the  man  in  the  '  Way  of  the  World,' 
Dut  she  had  heard  he  was  very  boastful  and  facetious  at 
women  over  his  chocolate  at  Ozinda's.  The  Earl  of 
Argent? — A  gallant  soldier,  surely,  but  whatever  he 
might  protest,  no  mistress  would  ever  rival  with  him  the 
dice  at  the  Groom  Porter's.  Lord  Philip  Bellairs  ? — A 
proper  gentleman ;  no  fault  in  him  ;  a  bel  esprit  and  an 
elegant  courtier ;  pleased  many,  no  doubt,  but  he  did  not 
please  her  overmuch.  Perhaps  her  taste  was  too  finical, 
or  her  character  too  cold,  as  they  said.  She  preferred  it 
should  be  so.  When  you  were  content  it  were  folly  to 
seek  a  change.  For  her  part,  she  failed  to  comprehend 
how  women  could  stoop  to  flutter  their  fans  and  choose 
their  ribbons,  and  rack  their  tirewomen's  brains  for  new 
pulvillios,  and  lappets,  and  devices,  and  practise  their 
curtsy  and  recovery  before  their  pier-glass,  for  no  better 
aim  or  stake  than  to  draw  the  glance  and  win  the  praise 
of  men  for  whom  they  cared  nothing.  A  woman  who 
had  the  eloquence  of  beauty  and  a  true  pride  should 
be  above  heed  for  such  affectations,  pleasure  in  such 
applause ! " 

So  she  would  put  them  all  aside  and  turn  the  tables  on 
her  triends,  and  go  on  her  own  way,  proud,  peerless,  ('ecil 
Castlemaine,  conquering  and  unconquered  ;  and  Steele 
must  have  had  her  name  in  his  thoughts,  and  honored  it 
heartily  and  sincerely,  when  he  wrote  one  Tuesday,  on 
the  21st  of  0(;tober,  under  the  domino  of  his  Church  Co- 
2 


14  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage 

quet.te,  "  I  say  I  do  honor  to  those  who  can  be  coquettei 
and  are  not  such,  but  I  despise  all  who  would  be  so,  and, 
in  despair  of  arriving  at  it  themselves,  hate  and  vilify  all 
those  who  can."  A  definition  justly  drawn  by  his  keen, 
quick  graver,  though  doubtless  it  only  excited  the  ire  of, 
and  was  entirely  lost  upon,  those  who  read  the  paper  over 
their  dish  of  bohea,  or  over  their  toilette,  while  they 
shifted  a  patch  for  an  hour  before  they  could  determine 
it,  or  regretted  the  loss  of  ten  guineas  at  crimp. 

Cecil  Castlemaine  was  the  beauty  of  the  Town :  when 
she  sat  at  Drury  Lane  on  the  Tory  side  of  the  house,  the 
devoutest  admirer  of  Oldfield  or  Mrs.  Porter  scarcely 
heard  a  word  of  the  Heroic  Daughter,  or  the  Amorous 
Widow,  and  the  "  beau  fullest  of  his  own  dear  self"  for- 
got his  silver-fringed  gloves,  his  medallion  snuff-box,  his 
knotted  cravat,  his  clouded  cane,  the  slaughter  that  ho 
planned  to  do,  from  gazing  at  her  where  she  sat  as  though 
she  were  reigning  sovereign  at  St.  James's,  tlie  Castle- 
maine diamonds  flashing  crescent-like  above  her  brow. 
At  church  and  court,  at  park  and  assembly,  there  were 
none  who  could  eclipse  that  haughty  gentlewoman  ;  there- 
fore her  fond  women  friends  who  had  caressed  her  so 
warmly  and  so  gracefully,  and  pulled  her  to  pieces  behind 
her  back,  if  they  could,  so  eagerly  over  their  dainty  cups 
of  tea  in  an  afternoon  visit,  were  glad,  one  and  all,  when 
on  "  Barnabybright,"  Anglice,  the  22d  (then  the  11th) 
of  June,  the  great  Castlemaine  chariot,  with  its  three 
herons  blazoned  on  its  coroneted  panels,  its  laced  liveries 
and  gilded  harness,  rolled  over  the  heavy,  ill-made  roads 
down  into  the  country  in  almost  princely  pomp,  the  peas- 
ants pouring  out  from  the  wayside  cottages  to  stare  at  my 
lord's  coach. 

It  was  said  in  the  town  that  a  portly  divine,  who  wore 
his  scarf  as  one  of  the  chaplains  to  the  Earl  of  Castle- 
maine, had  prattled  somewhat  indiscreetly  at  Child's  of 
his   patron's  politics ;    that   certain   cipher   letters   had 


CECIL  castlemaine's  OAQE.  i5 

passed  the  Channel  enclosed  in  chocolate-cakes  as  soon  as 
French  goods  were  again  imported  after  the  peace  of 
Utrecht ;  that  gentlemen  in  high  places  were  strongly 
suspected  of  mischievous  designs  against  the  tranquillity 
of  the  country  and  government;  that  the  Earl  had, 
among  others,  received  a  friendly  hint  from  a  relative  in 
power  to  absent  himself  for  a  while  from  the  court  where  he 
was  not  best  trusted,  and  the  town  where  an  incautious 
word  might  be  picked  up  and  lead  to  Tower  Hill,  and 
amuse  himself  at  his  goodly  castle  of  Lilliesford,  where 
the  red  deer  would  not  spy  upon  him,  and  the  dark  beech- 
woods  would  tell  no  tales.  And  the  ladies  of  quality,  her 
dear  friends  and  sisters,  were  glad  when  they  heard  it  as 
they  punted  at  basset  and  fluttered  their  fans  compla- 
cently. They  Avould  have  the  field  for  themselves,  for  a 
season,  while  Cecil  Castlemaine  was  immured  in  her 
manor  of  Lilliesford  ;  would  be  free  of  her  beauty  to 
eclipse  them  at  the  next  birthday,  be  quit  of  their  most 
dreaded  rival,  their  most  omnipotent  leader  of  fashion  • 
and  they  rejoiced  at  the  whisper  of  the  cipher  letter,  the 
damaging  gossipry  of  the  Whig  coffee-houses,  the  bad 
repute  into  which  my  Lord  Earl  had  grown  at  St. 
James's,  at  the  misfortune  of  their  friend,  in  a  word,  as 
human  nature,  masculine  or  feminine,  will  ever  do — to 
its  shame  be  it  spoken — unless  the  fo7nes  peccati  be  more 
completely  wrung  out  of  it  than  it  ever  has  been  since  the 
angel  Gabriel  performed  that  work  of  purification  on  the 
inlant  Mahomet. 

It  was  the  June  of  the  year  '15,  and  the  coming  dis- 
affection was  seething  and  boiling  secretly  among  the 
Tories ;  the  impeachment  of  Ormond  and  Bolingbroko 
had  strengthened  the  distaste  to  the  new-come  Hanove- 
rian pack,  their  attainder  had  been  the  blast  of  air  needed 
to  excite  the  smouldering  wood  to  flame,  the  gentlemen 
of  that  party  in  the  South  began  to  grow  impatient  of  the 
intrusion  of  the  distant  German  branch,  to  think  lovingly 


10  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

af  the  old  legitimate  line,  and  to  feel  something  of  the 
chafing  irritation  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  North,  who 
were  fretting  like  stag-hounds  held  in  leash. 

Envoys  passed  to  and  fro  between  St.  Germain,  and 
Jacobite  nobles,  priests  of  the  church  that  had  fallen  out 
of  favor  and  was  typified  as  the  Scarlet  Woman  by  a 
I'ival  who,  though  successful,  was  still  bitter,  plotted  with 
ecclesiastical  relish  in  the  task  ;  letters  were  conveyed  in 
rolls  of  innocent  lace,  plans  were  forwarded  in  frosted 
confections,  messages  were  passed  in  invisible  cipher  that 
defied  investigation.  The  times  were  dangerous  ;  full  of 
plot  and  counterplot,  of  risk  and  danger,  of  fomenting 
projects  and  hidden  disaffection — times  in  which  men, 
living  habitually  over  mines,  learned  to  like  the  uncer- 
tainty, and  to  think  life  flavorless  without  the  chance  of 
losing  it  any  hour ;  and  things  being  in  this  state,  the 
Earl  of  Castlemaine  deemed  it  prudent  to  take  the  coun- 
sel of  his  friend  in  power,  and  retire  from  London  for  a 
while,  perhaps  for  the  safety  of  his  own  person,  perhaps 
for  the  advancement  of  his  cause,  either  of  which  were 
easier  insured  at  his  seat  in  the  western  counties  than 
amidst  the  Whigs  of  the  capital. 

The  castle  of  Lilliesford  was  bowered  in  the  thick 
woods  of  the  western  counties,  a  giant  pile  built  by  Nor- 
man masons.  Troops  of  deer  herded  under  the  gold- 
green  beechen  boughs,  the  sunlight  glistened  through  the 
aisles  of  the  trees,  and  quivered  down  on  to  the  thick 
moss,  and  ferns,  and  tangled  grass  that  grew  under  the 
park  woodlands ;  the  water-lilies  clustered  on  the  river, 
and  the  swans  "  floated  double,  swan  and  shadow,"  under 
the  leaves  that  swept  into  the  water;  then,  when  Cecil 
Castlemaine  came  down  to  share  her  father's  retirement, 
as  now,  when  her  name  and  titles  on  the  gold  plate  of  a 
coffin  that  lies  with  others  of  her  race  in  the  mausoleum 
across  the  park,  where  winter  snows  and  summer  sun- 
rays  are  alike  to  those  who  sleep  within,  is  all  that,  tells 


CECIL    CASTLEMAINE'S    GAGE.  17 

at  Lilliesford  of  the  loveliest  woman  of  her  time  who  once 
reigned  there  iis  mistress. 

The  country  was  in  its  glad  green  midsummer  beauty, 
and  the  musk-rosebuds  bloomed  in  profuse  luxuria.ice 
over  the  chill  marble  of  the  terraces,  and  scattered  tlieir 
delicate  odorous  petals  in  fragrant  showers  on  the  sward 
of  the  lawns,  when  Cecil  Castlemaine  came  down  to  what 
she  termed  her  exile.  The  morning  was  fair  and  cloud- 
less, its  sunbeams  piercing  through  the  darkest  glades  in 
the  woodlands,  the  thickest  shroud  of  the  ivy,  the  deep- 
est-hued  pane  of  the  mullioned  windows,  as  she  passed 
down  the  great  staircase  where  lords  and  gentlewomen  of 
her  race  gazed  on  her  from  the  canvas  of  Lely  and  Jame- 
sone,  Bourdain  and  Vandyke,  crossed  the  hall  with  her 
dainty  step,  so  stately  yet  so  light,  and  standing  by  the 
window  of  her  own  bower-room,  was  lured  out  on  to  the 
terrace  overlooking  the  west  side  of  the  park. 

She  made  such  a  picture  as  Vandyke  would  have  liked 
to  paint,  with  her  golden  glow  upon  her,  and  the  musk- 
roses  clustering  about  her  round  the  pilasters  of  marble — ■ 
the  white  chill  marble  to  which  Belamour  and  many  other 
of  her  lovers  of  the  court  and  town  had  often  likened  her. 
Vandyke  would  have  lingered  lovingly  on  the  hand  that 
rested  on  her  stag-hound's  head,  would  have  caught  her 
air  of  court-like  grace  and  dignity,  would  have  painted 
with  delighted  fidelity  her  deep  azure  eyes,  her  proud 
brow,  her  delicate  lips  arched  haughtily  like  a  cupid's 
bow,  would  have  picked  out  every  fold  of  her  sweeping 
train,  every  play  of  light  on  her  silken  skirts,  every  dainty 
tracery  of  her  point- lace.  Yet  even  painted  by  Sir  An- 
thony, that  perfect  master  of  art  and  of  elegance,  though 
more  finished  it  could  have  hardly  been  more  faithful, 
more  instinct  with  grace,  and  life,  and  dignity,  than  a 
sketch  drawn  of  her  shortly  after  that  time  by  one  who 
loved  her  well,  which  is  still  hanging  in  the  gallery  at 
2*  li 


18  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

Lilliesford,  lighted    up   by  the   afternoon   sun  when   it 
fitreams  in  through  the  western  windows. 

Cecil  Castlemaine  stood  on  the  terrace  looking  over  the 
lawns  and  gardens  through  the  opening  vistas  of  meeting 
boughs  and  interlaced  leaves  to  the  woods  and  hills  be- 
yond, fused  in  a  soft  mist  of  green  and  purple,  with  her 
hand  lying  carelessly  on  her  hound's  broad  head.  She 
was  a  zealous  Tory,  a  skilled  politician,  and  her  thoughts 
were  busy  with  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  chances  for  and 
against,  of  a  cause  that  lay  near  her  heart,  but  whose 
plans  were  yet  immature,  Avhose  first  blow  was  yet  un- 
struck,  and  whose  well-wishers  were  sanguine  of  a  success 
they  had  not  yet  hazarded,  though  they  hardly  ventured 
to  whisper  to  each  other  their  previous  designs  and  desires. 
Her  thoughts  were  far  away,  and  she  hardly  heeded  the 
beauty  round  her,  musing  on  schemes  and  projects  dear 
to  her  party,  that  would  imperil  the  Castlemaine  coronet, 
but  would  serve  the  only  royal  house  the  Castlemaine  line 
had  ever  in  their  hearts  acknowledged. 

She  had  regretted  leaving  the  Town,  moreover;  a 
leader  of  the  mode,  a  wit,  a  woman  of  the  world,  she 
missed  her  accustomed  sphere ;  she  Avas  no  pastoral 
Phyllis,  no  country-born  Mistress  Fiddy,  to  pass  her  time 
in  provincial  pleasures,  in  making  cordial  waters,  in 
tending  her  beau-pots,  in  preserving  her  fallen  rose- 
leaves,  in  inspecting  the  confections  in  the  still-room  ;  as 
little  was  she  able,  like  many  fine  ladies  when  in  simi- 
lar exile,  to  while  it  away  by  scolding  her  tirewomen,  and 
sorting  a  suit  of  ribbons,  in  ordering  a  set  of  gilded  leather 
hangings  from  Chelsea  for  the  state  chambers,  and  yawn- 
ing over  chocolate  in  her  bed  till  mid-day.  She  regretted 
leaving  the  Town,  not  for  Belamour,  nor  Argent,  nor  any 
of  those  who  vainly  hoped,  as  they  glanced  at  the  little 
mirror  in  the  lids  of  their  snufi-boxes,  that  they  might 
have  graven  themselves,  Avere  it  ever  so  fiiintly,  in  her 
thoughts;    but   for   the  wits,  the   pleasures,   the   choice 


CECIL    CASTLEMAINE's    GAGE.  10 

clique,  the  accustomed  circle  to  which  she  was  so  used, 
the  courtly,  brilliant  town-life  where  she  was  wont  to 
reign. 

So  she  stood  on  the  terrace  the  first  morning  of  her 
exile,  her  thoughts  far  away,  with  the  loyal  gentlemen  of 
the  North,  and  the  banished  court  at  St.  Germain,  the 
lids  drooping  proudly  over  her  haughty  eyes,  and  her  lips 
half  parted  with  a  faint  smile  of  triumjdi  -ni  the  visions 
limned  by  ambition  and  imagination,  wlii^c  the  wind 
softly  stirred  the  rich  lace  of  her  bodice,  and  her  fingers 
lay  lightly,  yet  firmly,  on  the  head  of  her  stag-hound. 
She  looked  up  at  last  as  she  heard  the  ring  of  a  horse's 
hoofs,  and  saw  a  sorrel,  covered  with  dust  and  foam,  spurred 
up  the  avenue,  which,  rounding  past  the  terrace,  swept 
on  to  the  front  entrance;  the  sorrel  looked  wellnigh 
spent,  and  his  rider  somewhat  worn  and  languid,  as  a 
man  might  do  with  justice  who  had  been  in  boot  and 
saddle  twenty-four  hours  at  the  stretch,  scarce  stopping 
for  a  stoup  of  wine;  but  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  bowed 
down  to  his  saddle-bow  as  he  passed  her. 

"  Was  it  the  long-looked-for  messenger  with  definitb 
news  from  St.  Germain  ?  "  wondered  Lady  Cecil,  as  her 
hound  gave  out  a  deep-tongued  bay  of  anger  at  the 
stranger.  She  went  back  into  her  bower-room,  and  toyed 
absently  with  her  flowered  handkerchief,  broidering  a 
stalk  to  a  violet-leaf,  and  wondering  what  additional 
hope  the  horseman  might  have  brought  to  strengthen  the 
good  Cause,  till  her  servants  brought  word  that  his  Lord- 
ship prayed  the  pleasure  of  her  presence  in  the  octagon- 
room.  Whereat  she  rose,  and  swept  through  the  long 
corridors,  entered  the  octagon-room,  the  sunbeams  gather- 
ing about  her  rich  dress  as  they  passed  through  the 
stained-glass  oriels,  and  saluted  the  new-comer,  when  her 
father  presented  him  to  her  as  their  trusty  and  welcome 
friend  and  envoy.  Sir  Fulke  Ravensworth,  with  her  care- 
less dignity  and  (j^ueenly  grace,  that  nameless  air  which 


20  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

was  too  highly  bred  to  be  condescension,  but  markedly 
and  proudly  repelled  familiarity,  and  signed  a  pale  of 
distance  beyond  which  none  must  intrude. 

The  new-comer  was  a  tall  and  handsome  man,  of  noble 
presence,  bronzed  by  foreign  suns,  pale  and  jaded  just 
now  with  hard  riding,  while  his  dark  silver-laced  suit 
was  splashed  and  covered  with  dust ;  but  as  he  bowed  low 
to  her,  critical  Cecil  Castlemaine  saw  that  not  Belamour 
himself  could  have  better  grace,  not  my  Lord  Millamon.. 
courtlier  mien  nor  whiter  hands,  and  listened  with  gra- 
cious air  to  what  her  father  unfolded  to  her  of  his  mis- 
sion from  St.  Germain,  whither  he  had  come,  at  great 
personal  risk,  in  many  disguises,  and  at  breathless  speed, 
to  place  in  their  hands  a  precious  letter  in  cipher  from 
James  Stuart  to  his  well-beloved  and  loyal  subject  Her- 
bert George,  Earl  of  Castlemaine.  A  letter  spoken  of 
with  closed  doors  and  in  low  whispers,  loyal  as  was  the 
household,  supreme  as  the  Earl  ruled  over  his  domains 
of  Lilliesford,  for  these  were  times  when  men  mistrusted 
those  of  their  own  blood,  and  when  the  very  figures  on 
the  tapestry  seemed  instinct  with  life  to  spy  and  betray 
—  when  they  almost  feared  the  silk  that  tied  a  missive 
should  babble  of  its  contents,  and  the  hound  that  slept 
beside  them  should  read  and  tell  their  thoughts. 

To  leave  Lilliesford  would  be  danger  to  the  Envoy  and 
danger  to  the  Cause ;  to  stay  as  guest  was  to  disarm  sus- 
picion. The  messenger  who  had  brought  such  priceless 
news  must  rest  within  the  shelter  of  his  roof;  too  much 
were  risked  by  returning  to  the  French  coast  yet  a  while, 
or  even  by  joining  Mar  or  Derwentwater,  so  the  Earl  en- 
forced his  will  upon  the  Envoy,  and  the  Envoy  thanked 
him  and  accepted. 

Perchance  the  beauty,  whose  eyes  he  had  seen  lighten 
and  proud  brow  flush  as  she  read  the  royal  greeting  and 
injunction,  made  a  sojourn  near  her  presence  not  distaste- 
ful; perchance  he  cared  little  where  he  stayed  till  the 


CECIL   CASTLEMAINE's    GAGE.  21 

dawning  time  of  action  and  of  rising  should  arrive,  when 
he  should  take  the  field  and  fight  till  life  or  death  for  the 
"  White  Eose  and  the  long  heads  of  hair."  He  was  a 
soldier  of  fortune,  a  poor  gentleman  with  no  patrimony 
hut  his  name,  no  chance  of  distinction  save  by  his  sword  ; 
sworn  to  a  cause  whose  star  was  set  forever ;  for  many 
years  his  life  li^d  been  of  changing  adventure  and  shift- 
ing chances,  noAV  fighting  with  Berwick  at  Almanza,  now 
risking  his  life  in  some  delicate  and  dangerous  errand  for 
James  Stuart  that  could  not  have  been  trusted  so  well  to 
any  other  officer  about  St.  Germain  ;  gallant  to  rashness, 
yet  with  much  of  the  acumen  of  the  diplomatist,  he  was 
invaluable  to  his  Court  and  Cause,  but,  Stuart-like,  men- 
like,  they  hastened  to  employ,  but  ever  forgot  to  reward  1 

Lady  Cecil  missed  her  town-life,  and  did  not  over-favor 
her  exile  in  the  western  counties.  To  note  down  on  her 
Mather's  tablets  the  drowsy  homilies  droned  out  by  the 
chaplain  on  a  Sabbath  noon,  to  play  at  crambo,  to  talk 
with  her  tirewomen  of  new  washes  for  the  skin,  to  pass  her 
hours  away  in  knotting? — she,  whom  Steele  might  have 
writ  of  when  he  drew  his  character  of  Eudoxia,  could 
wile  her  exile  with  none  of  these  inanities ;  neither  could 
she  consort  with  gentry  who  seemed  to  her  little  better 
than  the  boors  of  a  country  wake,  who  had  never  heard 
of  Mr.  Spectator  and  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Cowley, 
countrywomen  whose  ambition  was  in  their  cowslip 
wines,  fox-hunters  more  ignorant  and  uncouth  than  tho 
dumb  brutes  they  followed. 

Who  was  there  for  miles  around  with  whom  she  could 
stoop  to  associate,  with  whom  she  cared  to  exchange  a 
word  ?  Madam  from  the  vicarage,  in  her  grogram,  learned 
in  syrups,  salves,  and  possets  ?  Country  Lady  Bouutifuls, 
with  gossip  of  the  village  and  the  poultry-yard  ?  Provincial 
Peeresses,  who  had  never  been  to  London  since  Queen 
Anne's  coronation?  A  squirearchy,  who  knew  of  no 
music  save  the  concert  of  their  slop-hounds,  no  court  save 


22  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

the  court  of  the  county  assize,  no  literature  unless  by 
miracle  't  were  Tarleton's  Jests  ?  None  such  as  these  could 
cross  the  inlaid  oak  parquet  of  Lilliesford,  and  be  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  Cecil  Castlemaine. 

So  the  presence  of  the  Chevalier's  messenger  was  not 
altogether  unwelcome  and  distasteful  to  her.  She  saw  him 
but  little,  merely  conversing  at  table  Avith  him  with  that 
distant  and  dignified  courtesy  which  marked  her  out  from 
the  light,  free,  inconsequent  manners  in  vogue  with  other 
women  of  quality  of  her  time ;  the  air  which  had  chilled 
half  the  softest  things  even  on  Belamour's  lips,  and  kept 
the  vainest  coxcomb  hesitating  and  abashed. 

But  by  degrees  she  observed  that  the  Envoy  was  a  man 
who  had  lived  in  many  countries  and  in  many  courts,  was 
well  versed  in  the  tongues  of  France  and  Italy  and  Spain  — 
in  their  belles-lettres  too,  moreover  —  and  had  served  hi3 
apprenticeship  to  good  comjDany  in  the  salons  of  Versailles, 
in  the  audience-room  of  the  Vatican,  at  the  receptions  of 
the  Duchess  du  Maine,  and  with  the  banished  family  at 
St.  Germain.  He  spoke  with  a  high  and  sanguine  spirit 
of  the  troublous  times  approaching  and  the  beloved 
Cause  whose  crisis  was  at  hand,  which  chimed  in  with 
her  humor  better  than  the  flippancies  of  Belamour,  the 
airy  nothings  of  Millamont.  He  was  but  a  soldier  of 
fortune,  a  poor  gentleman  who,  named  to  her  in  the 
town,  would  have  had  never  a  word,  and  would  have  been 
unnoted  amidst  the  crowding  beaux  who  clustered  round 
to  hold  her  fan  and  hear  how  she  had  been  pleasured 
with  the  drolleries  of  G^-ief  d  la  Mode.  But  down  in  the 
western  counties  she  deigned  to  listen  to  the  Prince's 
officer,  to  smile  —  a  smile  beautiful  when  it  came  on  her 
proud  lips,  as  the  play  of  light  on  the  opals  of  her  jewelled 
stomacher  —  nay,  even  to  be  amused  when  he  spoke  of  the 
women  of  foreign  courts,  to  be  interested  when  he  told, 
which  was  but  reluctantly,  of  his  own  perils,  escapes,  and 
adventuras,  to  discourse  with  him,  riding  home  under  the 


CECIL  castlematne's  oaoe.  23 

beech  avenues  from  liawkiiig;,  or  standing  on  the  western 
terrace  at  curfew  to  watch  the  sunset,  of  many  tilings  on 
vhich  the  nobles  of  the  Mall  and  the  gentlemen  about  St. 
James's  had  never  been  allowed  to  share  her  opinions.  For 
Lady  Cecil  was  deeply  read  (unusually  deeply  for  her  day, 
since  fine  ladies  of  her  rank  and  fashion  mostly  contented 
themselves  with  skimming  a  romance  of  Scuderi's,  or  an 
act  of  Aurxingzehe) ;  but  she  rarely  spoke  of  those  things. 
save  perchance  now  and  then  to  Mr.  Addison. 

Fulke  Ravensworth  never  flattered  her,  moreover,  and 
flattery  was  a  honeyed  confection  of  which  she  had  long 
been  cloyed  ;  he  even  praised  boldly  before  her  other 
women  of  beauty  and  grace  whom  he  had  seen  at  Ver- 
sailles, at  Sceaux,  and  at  St.  Germain  ;  neither  did  he  defer 
to  her  perpetually,  but  where  he  differed  would  combat  her 
sentiments  courteously  but  firmly.  Though  a  soldier  anr 
a  man  of  action,  he  had  an  admirable  skill  at  the  limner's 
art ;  could  read  to  her  the  Divina  Commedia,  or  the 
comedies  of  Lope  da'  Vega,  and  ti'ansfer  crabbed  Latin 
and  abstruse  Greek  into  elegant  English  for  her  pleasures 
and  though  a  beggared  gentleman  of  most  precarious  for- 
tunes, he  would  speak  of  life  and  its  chances,  of  the  Cause 
and  its  perils,  with  a  daring  which  she  found  preferable 
to  the  lisped  languor  of  the  men  of  the  town,  who  had  no 
better  campaigns  than  laying  siege  to  a  prude,  cared  for 
no  other  weapons  than  their  toilettes  and  snuff"-boxes,  and 
sought  no  other  excitement  than  a  coup  (U eclat  with  the 
lion-tumblers. 

On  the  whole,  through  these  long  midsummer  days, 
Lady  Cecil  found  the  Envoy  from  St.  Germain  a  com- 
panion that  did  not  suit  her  ill,  sought  less  the  solitude  of 
her  bower-room,  and  listened  graciously  to  him  in  the  long 
twilight  hours,  while  the  evening  dews  gathered  in  the 
cups  of  the  musk-roses,  and  the  star-rays  began  to  quiver 
on  the  water-lilies  floating  on  the  river  below,  that  mur- 
mured along,  with  endless  song,  under  the  beecheu-boughs. 


24  CEfiiL  castlemaine's  gage. 

A  certain  softness  stole  over  her,  relaxing  the  cold  hauteur 
of  which  Belamour  had  so  often  complained,  giving  a 
nameless  charm,  supplying  a  nameless  something,  lacking 
before,  in  the  beauty  of  The  Castleraaine. 

She  would  stroke,  half  sadly,  the  smooth  feathers  of  her 
tartaret  falcon  Gabrielle  when  Fulke  Ravensworth  brought 
her  the  bird  from  the  ostreger's  wrist,  with  its  azure  velvet 
hood,  and  silver  bells  and  jesses.  She  would  wonder,  as 
she  glanced  through  Corneille  or  Congreve,  Philips  or 
Petrarca,  what  it  was,  this  passion  of  love,  of  which  they 
all  treated,  on  which  they  all  turned,  no  matter  how  dif- 
ferent their  strain.  And  now  and  then  would  come  over 
her  cheek  and  brow  a  faint  fitful  wavering  flush,  delicate 
and  changing  as  the  flush  from  the  rose-hued  reflexions 
of  western  clouds  on  a  statue  of  Pharos  marble,  and  then 
she  would  start  and  rouse  herself,  and  wonder  what  she 
ailed,  and  grow  once  more  haughty,  calm,  stately,  daz- 
zling, but  chill  as  the  Castlemaine  diamonds  that  she  wore. 

So  the  summer-time  passed,  and  the  autumn  came,  the 
corn-lands  brown  with  harvest,  the  hazel-copses  strewn 
with  fallen  nuts,  the  beech-leaves  turning  into  reddened 
gold.  As  the  wheat  ripened  but  to  meet  the  sickle,  as  the 
nuts  grew  but  to  fall,  as  the  leaves  turned  to  gold  but  to 
wither,  so  the  sanguine  hopes,  the  fond  ambitions  of  men, 
strengthened  and  matured  only  to  fade  into  disappoint- 
ment and  destruction !  Four  months  had  sped  by  since 
the  Prince's  messenger  had  come  to  Lilliesford  —  months 
that  had  gone  swiftly  with  him  as  some  sweet  delicious 
dream ;  and  the  time  had  come  when  he  had  orders  to 
ride  north,  secretly  and  swiftly,  speak  with  Mr.  Forster 
and  other  gentlemen  concerned  in  the  meditated  rising, 
and  convey  despatches  and  instructions  to  the  Earl  of 
Mar ;  for  Prince  James  was  projecting  soon  to  join  his 
loyal  adherents  in  Scotland,  and  the  critical  moment  was 
close  at  hand,  the  moment  when,  to  Fulke  Ravensworth's 
high  and  sanguine  courage,  victory  seemed  certain  ;  fail- 


OECIL    CASTLEMAINE's    GAGE.  25 

ure,  if  no  treachery  marred,  no  dissension  weakened,  im- 
possible ;  the  moment  to  which  he  looked  for  honor,  suc- 
cess, distinction,  that  should  give  him  claim  and  title  to 
aspire  —  where  f  Strong  man,  cool  soldier  though  he  was, 
he  shrank  from  drawing  his  fancied  future  out  from  the 
golden  haze  of  immature  hope,  lest  he  should  see  it  wither 
upon  closer  sight.  He  was  but  a  landless  adventurer, 
with  nothing  but  his  sword  and  his  honor,  and  kings  he 
knew  were  slow  to  pay  back  benefits,  or  recollect  the 
hands  that  hewed  them  free  passage  to  their  thrones. 

Cecil  Castleraaine  stood  within  the  window  of  her 
bower-room,  the  red  light  of  the  October  sun  glittering 
on  her  gold-broidered  skirt  and  her  corsage  sewn  with 
opals  and  emeralds ;  her  hand  was  pressed  lightly  on  her 
bosom,  as  though  some  pain  Avere  throbbing  there ;  it  was 
new  this  unrest,  this  weariness,  this  vague  weight  that 
hung  upon  her ;  it  was  the  perils  of  their  Cause,  she  told 
herself;  the  risks  her  father  ran:  it  was  weak,  childish, 
unworthy  a  Castlemaine !     Still  the  pain  throbbed  there. 

Her  hound,  asleep  beside  her,  raised  his  head  with  a 
low  growl  as  a  step  intruded  on  the  sanctity  of  the  bower- 
room,  then  composed  himself  again  to  slumber,  satisfied  it 
was  no  foe.  His  mistress  turned  slowly ;  she  knew  the 
horses  waited  ;  she  had  shunned  this  ceremony  of  fare- 
well, and  never  thought  any  would  be  bold  enough  to 
venture  here  without  permission  sought  and  gained. 

"  Lady  Cecil,  I  could  not  go  upon  my  way  without  one 
word  of  parting.  Pardon  me  if  I  have  been  too  rash  to 
•seek  it  here." 

Why  was  it  that  his  brief  frank  words  ever  pleased  her 
better  than  Belamour's  most  honeyed  phrases,  Millamont's 
Buavest  periods  ?  She  scarcely  could  have  told,  save  that 
there  were  in  them  an  earnestness  and  truth  new  and  rare 
to  her  ear  and  to  her  heart. 

She  pressed  her  hand  closer  on  the  opals  —  the  jewels 
of  calamity  —  and  smiled: 


26  CECIL  castlematne's  gage. 

"Assuredly  I  wisli  you  God  speed,  Sir  Fulkc,  and  safo 
issue  from  all  perils." 

He  bowed  low  ;  then  raised  himself  to  his  fullest  height, 
and  stood  beside  her,  watching  the  light  play  upon  the 
opals : 

"  That  is  all  you  vouchsafe  me  ?  " 

"Allf  It  is  as  much  as  you  would  claim,  sir,  is  it  not? 
It  is  more  than  I  would  say  to  many." 

"Your  pardon  —  it  is  more  than  I  should  claim  if  pru- 
dence were  ever  by,  if  reason  always  ruled !  I  have  no 
right  to  ask  for,  seek  for,  even  wish  for,  more ;  such  peti- 
tions may  only  be  addressed  by  men  of  wealth  and  of 
high  title ;  a  landless  soldier  should  have  no  pride  to 
sting,  no  heart  to  wound ;  they  are  the  prerogative  of  a 
happier  fortune." 

Her  lips  turned  white,  but  she  answered  haughtily  ;  tne 
crimson  light  flashing  in  her  jewels,  heirlooms  priceless 
and  hereditary,  like  her  beauty  and  her  pride : 

"  This  is  strange  language,  sir !  I  fail  to  apprehend 
you." 

"  You  have  never  thought  that  I  ran  a  danger  deadlier 
than  that  which  I  have  ever  risked  on  any  field  ?  You 
have  never  guessed  that  I  have  had  the  madness,  the  pre- 
sumption, the  crime  —  it  may  be  in  your  eyes  —  to  love 
you." 

The  color  flushed  to  her  face,  crimsoning  even  her  brow, 
and  then  fled  back.  Her  first  instinct  was  insulted  pride 
—  a  beggared  gentleman,  a  landless  soldier,  spoke  to  her 
of  love! — of  love! — which  Belamour  had  barely  had 
courage  to  whisper  of;  which  none  had  dared  to  sue  of 
her  in  return.  He  had  ventured  to  feel  this  for  her !  he 
had  ventured  to  speak  of  this  to  her! 

The  Envoy  saw  the  rising  resentment,  the  pride  spoken 
in  every  line  of  her  delicate  face,  and  stopped  her  as  she 
would  have  spoken. 

"Wait!     I  know  all  you  would  reply.     You  think  it 


CECIL    CASTLEMAINE'S    GAGE.  27 

infinite  daring,  presumption  that  merits  highest  re- 
proof  ■' 

"  Since  you  divined  so  justly,  it  Avere  pity  you  sub- 
jected yourself  and  me  to  this  most  useless,  most  unex- 
pected interview.     Why " 

"Whyf  Because,  perchance,  in  this  life  you  will  see 
my  face  no  more,  and  you  will  think  gently,  mercifully 
of  my  ofi'ence  (if  offence  it  be  to  love  you  more  than  life, 
and  only  less  than  honor),  when  you  know  that  I  have 
fallen  for  the  Cause,  with  your  name  in  my  heart,  held 
only  the  dearer  because  never  on  my  lips !  Sincere  love 
can  be  no  insult  to  whomsoever  proffered ;  Elizabeth 
Stuart  saw  no  shame  to  her  in  the  devotion  of  William 
Craven ! " 

Cecil  Castlemaine  stood  in  the  crimson  glory  of  the 
autumn  sunset,  her  head  erect,  hei  pride  unshaken,  but 
her  heart  stirred  strangely  and  xmwontedly.  It  smote 
the  one  with  bitter  pain,  to  think  a  penniless  exile  should 
thus  dare  to  speak  of  what  princes  and  dukes  had  almost 
feared  to  whisper;  what  had  she  done  —  what  had  she 
said,  to  give  him  license  for  such  liberty  ?  It  stirred  the 
other  with  a  tremulous  warmth,  a  vague,  sweet  pleasure, 
that  were  never  visitants  there  before;  but  that  she 
scouted  instantly  as  weakness,  folly,  debasement,  in  the 
Last  of  the  Castlemaines. 

He  saw  well  enough  what  passed  within  her,  what  made 
her  eyes  so  troubled,  yet  her  brow  and  lips  so  proudly  set, 
and  he  bent  nearer  towards  her,  the  great  love  that  was 
in  him  trembling  in  his  voice : 

"  Lady  Cecil,  hear  me !  If  in  the  coming  struggle  I 
win  distinction,  honor,  rank  —  if  victory  come  to  us,  and 
the  King  we  serve  remember  me  in  his  prosperity  as  he 
does  now  in  his  adversity  —  if  I  can  meet  you  hereafter 
with  tidings  of  triumph  and  success,  my  name  made  one 
which  England  breathes  with  praise  and  pride,  honors 
;,ained  such  as  even  you  will  deem  worthy  of  your  line  — 


28  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

then  —  then  —  will  you  let  me  speak  of  what  ydu  refuse 
to  hearken  to  now  —  then  may  I  come  to  you,  and  seek 
a  gentler  answer  ?  " 

She  looked  for  a  moment  upon  his  face,  as  it  bent  to- 
wards her  in  the  radiance  of  the  sunset  light,  the  hope 
that  hopes  all  things  glistening  in  his  eyes,  the  high-souled 
daring  of  a  gallant  and  sanguine  spirit  flushing  his  fore- 
head, the  loud  throbs  of  his  heart  audible  in  the  stillness 
around ;  and  her  proud  eyes  grew  softer,  her  lips  quiv- 
ei'ed  for  an  instant. 

Then  she  turned  towards  him  with  queenly  grace : 

"Yes!" 

It  was  spoken  with  stately  dignity,  though  scarce  above 
her  breath ;  but  the  hue  that  wavered  in  her  cheek  was 
but  the  lovelier,  for  the  pride  that  would  not  let  her  eyes 
droop  nor  her  tears  rise,  would  not  let  her  utter  one  softer 
word.  That  one  word  cost  her  much.  That  single  utter- 
ance was  much  from  Cecil  Castlemaine. 

Her  handkerchief  lay  at  her  feet,  a  delicate,  costly  toy 
of  lace,  embroidered  with  her  shield  and  chiffre ;  he 
stooped  and  raised  it,  and  thrust  it  in  his  breast  to 
treasure  it  there. 

"  If  I  fail,  I  send  this  back  in  token  that  I  renounce 
all  hope ;  if  I  can  come  to  you  with  honor  and  with  fame, 
this  shall  be  my  gage  that  I  may  speak,  that  you  will 
listen?" 

She  bowed  her  noble  head,  ever  held  haughtily,  as 
though  every  crown  of  Europe  had  a  right  to  circle  it ; 
his  hot  lips  lingered  for  a  moment  on  her  hand ;  then 
Cecil  Castlemaine  stood  alone  in  the  window  of  her  bower- 
room,  her  hand  pressed  again  upon  the  opals  under  which 
her  heart  was  beating  with  a  dull,  weary  pain,  looking 
out  over  the  landscape,  where  the  golden  leaves  were 
falling  fast,  and  the  river,  tossing  sadly  dead  branches 
on  its  waves,  was  bemoaning  in  plaintive  language  the 
Bummer  days  gone  by. 


CKCIL    CASTLEMAINE  S    QAQh  3? 

Two  months  came  and  went,  the  beech-loughs,  black 
and  sear,  creaked  in  the  bleak  December  winds  that 
sighed  through  frozen  ferns  and  over  the  couches  of  shiv- 
ering deer,  the  snow  drifted  up  on  the  marble  terrace,  an<i 
icedrops  clung  where  the  warm  rosy  petals  of  the  musk- 
rosebuds  had  nestled.  Across  the  country  came  terrible 
whispers  that  struck  the  hearts  of  men  of  loyal  faith  to 
the  White  Rose  with  a  bolt  of  ice-cold  terror  and  despair. 
Messengers  riding  in  hot  haste,  open-mouthed  peasants 
gossiping  by  the  village  forge,  horsemen  who  tarried  for 
a  breathless  rest  at  alehouse-doors,  Whig  divines  who 
returned  thanks  for  God's  most  gracious  mercy  in  vouch- 
safing victory  to  the  strong,  all  told  the  tale,  all  spread 
the  news  of  the  drawn  battle  of  Sherift-Muir,  of  the  sur- 
render under  Preston  walls,  of  the  flight  of  Prince  James. 
The  tidings  came  one  by  one  to  Lilliesford,  where  my 
Lord  Earl  was  holding  himself  in  readiness  to  co-operate 
with  the  gentlemen  of  the  North  to  set  up  the  royal 
standard,  broidered  by  his  daughter's  hands,  in  the  west- 
ern counties,  and  proclaim  James  III.  "  sovereign  lord 
and  king  of  the  realms  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland." 
The  tidings  came  to  Lilliesford,  and  Cecil  Castlemaine 
clenched  her  white  jewelled  hands  in  passionate  anguish 
that  a  Stuart  should  have  fled  before  the  traitor  of  Argyll, 
instead  of  dying  with  his  face  towards  the  rebel  crew ; 
that  men  had  lived  who  could  choose  surrender  instead 
of  heroic  death ;  that  she  had  not  been  there,  at  Preston, 
to  shame  them  with  a  woman's  reading  of  courage  and  of 
loyalty,  and  show  them  how  to  fall  with  a  doomed  city 
rather  than  yield  captive  to  a  foe ! 

Perhaps  amidst  htT  grief  for  her  Prince  and  for  his 
Cause  mingled  —  as  the  deadliest  thought  of  all  —  a 
memory  of  a  bright  proud  face,  that  had  bent  towards 
her  with  tender  love  and  touching  grace  a  month  before, 
and  that  might  now  be  lying  pale  and  cold,  turned 
upwards  to  the  winter  stars,  on  the  fleld  of  Sherifi-Muir. 


30  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

A  year  rolled  by.  Twelve  months  had  fled  since  the 
gilded  carriage  of  the  Castlemaines,  with  the  lordly  bla- 
zonment  upon  its  panels,  its  princely  retinue  and  stately 
pomp,  had  come  down  into  the  western  counties.  The 
bones  were  crumbling  white  in  the  coffins  in  the  Tower, 
and  the  skulls  over  Temple-bar  had  bleached  white  in 
winter  snows  and  spring-tide  suns ;  Kenmuir  b*id  gone  to 
a  sleep  that  knew  no  wakening,  and  Der\ventwater  had 
laid  his  fair  young  head  down  for  a  thankless  cause ;  the 
heather  bloomed  over  the  mounds  of  dead  on  the  plains 
of  Sheriff-Muir,  and  the  yellow  gorse  blossomed  under 
the  city  walls  of  Preston. 

Another  summer  had  dawned,  bright  and  laughing, 
over  England ;  none  the  less  fair  for  human  lives  laid 
down,  for  human  hopes  crushed  out ;  daisies  powdering 
the  turf  sodden  with  human  blood,  birds  carolling  their 
song  over  graves  of  heaped-up  dead.  The  musk-roses 
tossed  their  delicate  heads  again  amidst  the  marble  ])ilas- 
ters,  and  the  hawthorn-boughs  shook  their  fragrant  buds 
into  the  river  at  Lilliesford,  the  purple  hills  lay  wrapped 
in  sunny  mist,  and  hyacinth-bells  mingled  with  the  tan- 
gled grass  and  fern  under  the  woodland  shades,  where  the 
red  deer  nestled  happily.  Herons  plumed  their  silvery 
wings  down  by  the  water-side,  swallows  circled  in  sultry 
air  above  the  great  bell-tower,  and  wood-pigeons  cooed 
with  soft  love-notes  among  the  leafy  branches.  Yet  the 
Countess  of  Castlemaine,  last  of  her  race,  sole  owner  of 
the  lands  that  spread  around  her,  stood  on  the  rose-ter- 
race, finding  no  joy  in  the  sunlight  about  her,  no  melody 
in  the  song  of  the  birds. 

She  was  the  last  of  her  name;  her  father,  broken- 
hearted at  the  news  from  Dumblain  and  Preston,  had 
died  the  very  day  after  his  lodgment  in  the  Tower.  There 
was  no  heir  male  of  his  line,  and  the  title  had  passed  to 
his  daughter ;  there  had  been  thoughts  of  confiscation 
and  attainder,  but  others,  unknown  to  her,  solicited  what 


CECIL  castlemaine's  oage.  31 

ehe  scorned  to  ask  for  herself,  and  the  greed  of  the  hungry 
"  Hanoverian  pack  "  spared  the  hinds  and  the  revenues  of 
Lilliesford.  In  haughty  pride,  in  lonely  mourning,  the 
fairest  beauty  of  the  Court  and  Town  withdrew  again  to 
the  solitude  of  her  western  counties,  and  tarried  there, 
dwelling  amidst  her  women  and  her  almost  regal  house- 
hold, in  the  sacred  solitude  of  grief,  Avherein  none  might 
intrude.  Proud  Cecil  Castlemaine  was  yet  prouder  than 
of  yore ;  alone,  sorrowing  for  her  ruined  Cause  and  exiled 
King,  she  would  hold  converse  with  none  of  those  who 
had  had  a  hand  in  drawing  down  the  disastrous  fate  she 
mourned,  and  only  her  staghound  could  have  seen  the 
weariness  upon  her  face  when  she  bent  down  to  him,  or 
Gabrielle  the  falcon  felt  her  hand  tremble  when  it  stroked 
her  folded  wings.  She  stood  on  the  terrace,  looking  over 
her  spreading  lands,  not  the  water-lilies  on  the  river  below 
whiter  than  her  lips,  pressed  painfully  together.  Perhap-s 
she  repented  of  certain  words,  spoken  to  one  Avhom  now 
she  would  never  again  behold  —  perhaps  she  thought  of 
that  delicate  toy  that  was  to  have  been  brought  back  in 
victory  and  hope,  that  now  might  lie  stained  and  stiffened 
with  blood  next  a  lifeless  heart,  for  never  a  word  in  the 
twelve  months  gone  by  had  there  come  to  Lilliesford  as 
tidings  of  Fulke  Ravensworth. 

Her  pride  w^as  dear  to  her,  dearer  than  aught  else ;  she 
had  spoken  as  was  her  right  to  speak,  she  had  done  what 
became  a  Castlemaine ;  it  would  have  been  weakness  to 
have  acted  otherwise  ;  what  was  he — a  landless  soldier — 
that  he  should  have  dared  as  he  had  dax-ed  ?  Yet  the 
t>ables  she  wore  were  not  solely  for  the  dead  Earl,  not 
solely  for  the  lost  Stuarts  the  hot  mist  that  would  blind 
the  eyes  of  Cecil  Castlemaine,  as  hours  swelled  to  days, 
and  days  to  months,  and  she  —  the  flattered  beauty  of  the 
Court  and  Town  — stayed  in  self-chosen  solitude  in  her 
halls  of  Lilliesford,  still  unwedded  and  unwon. 

The  noon-huurs  chiniud  from  the  bell-tower,  and  the 


32  CECIL  castlemaine's  gage. 

sunny  beauty  of  the  niorniug  but  weighed  with  heavier 
Badness  on  her  heart ;  the  song  of  the  birds,  the  busy  hum 
of  the  gnats,  the  joyous  ring  of  the  silver  bell  round  her 
pet  fawn's  neck,  as  it  darted  from  her  side  under  the 
drooping  boughs  —  nf^ne  touched  an  answering  chord  of 
gladness  in  her.  She  stood  looking  over  her  stretching 
Avoodlauds  in  deep  thought,  so  deep  that  she  heard  no 
step  over  the  lawn  beneath,  nor  saw  the  frightened  rush 
of  the  deer,  as  a  boy,  crouching  among  the  tangled  ferns, 
sprang  up  from  his  hiding-place  under  the  beechen 
branches,  and  stood  on  the  terrace  before  her,  craving  her 
pardon  in  childish,  yet  fearless  tones.  She  turned,  bend- 
ing on  him  that  glance  which  had  made  the  over-bold 
glance  of  princes  fall  abashed.  The  boy  was  but  a  little 
tatterdemalion  to  have  ventured  thus  abruptly  into  the 
presence  of  the  Countess  of  Castlemaine  ;  still  it  was  with 
some  touch  of  a  page's  grace  that  he  bowed  before  her. 

"  Lady,  I  crave  your  pardon,  but  my  master  bade  me 
watch  for  you,  though  I  watched  till  midnight." 

"  Your  master?" 

A  flush,  warm  as  that  on  the  leaves  of  the  musk-roses, 
rose  to  her  face  for  an  instant,  then  faded  as  suddenly. 
The  boy  did  not  notice  her  words,  but  went  on  in  an  eager 
whisper,  glancing  anxiously  round,  as  a  hare  would  glance 
fearing  the  hunters. 

"And  told  me  when  I  saw  you  not  to  speak  his  name, 
but  only  to  give  you  this  as  his  gage,  that  though  all  else 
is  lost  he  has  not  forgot  his  honor  nor  your  will." 

Cecil  Castlemaine  spoke  no  word,  but  she  stretched  out 
her  hand  and  took  it  —  her  own  costly  toy  of  cambric  and 
lace,  with  her  broidered  shield  and  coronet. 

"  Your  master !     Then  —  he  lives  ? " 

"  Lady,  he  bade  me  say  no  more.  Y  ou  have  his  mes- 
page ;  I  must  tell  no  further." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  a  light,  snow- 
white  baud,  yet  one  that  held  him  u^     in  a  clasp  of  steoL 


CECIL    CASTLEMAINE'S    GAGE.  33 

"  Child !  answer  me  at  your  peril !  Tell  me  of  hira 
■whom  you  call  your  master.  Tell  me  all  —  quick  — 
quick ! " 

"  You  are  his  friend  ?  " 

"  His  friend  ?     My  Heaven  !     Speak  on  !  " 

"  He  bade  me  tell  no  more  on  peril  of  his  heaviest 
anger ;  but  if  you  are  his  friend,  I  sure  may  speak  what 
you  should  know  without  me.  It  is  a  poor  friend,  lady, 
who  has  need  to  ask  whether  another  be  dead  or  living ! " 

The  scarlet  blood  flamed  in  the  Countess's  blanched 
face,  she  signed  him  on  with  impetuous  command ;  she 
was  unused  to  disobedience,  and  the  child's  words  cut  her 
to  the  quick. 

"  Sir  Fulke  sails  for  the  French  coast  to-morrow  night," 
the  boy  went  on,  in  tremulous  haste.  "  He  Avas  left  for 
dead  —  our  men  ran  one  way,  and  Argyll's  men  the  other 
—  on  the  field  of  Sheriff-Muir ;  and  sure  if  he  had  not 
been  strong  indeed,  he  would  have  died  that  awful  night, 
untended,  on  the  bleak  moor,  with  the  winds  roaring 
round  him,  and  his  life  ebbing  away.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  who  yZe(? ;  you  know  that  of  him  if  you  know  aught. 
We  got  hira  away  before  dawn,  Donald  and  I,  and  hid 
him  in  a  shieling ;  he  was  in  the  fever  then,  and  knew 
nothing  that  was  done  to  him,  only  he  kept  that  bit  of 
lace  in  his  hand  for  weeks  and  weeks,  and  would  not  let 
us  stir  it  from  his  grasp.  What  magic  there  was  in  it  we 
wondered  often,  but  'twas  a  magic,  mayhap,  that  got  hira 
well  at  last;  it  was  an  even  chance  but  that  he'd  died, 
God  bless  him  !  though  we  did  what  best  we  could.  We've 
been  wandering  in  the  Highlands  all  the  year,  hiding 
here  and  tarrying  there.  Sir  Fulke  sets  no  count  upon 
his  life.  Sure  I  think  he  thanks  us  little  for  getting  him 
through  the  fever  of  the  wounds,  but  he  could  not  have 
boi'ue  to  be  pinioned,  you  know,  lady,  like  a  thief,  and 
hung  up  by  the  brutes  of  Whigs,  as  a  butcher  hangs  sheep 
in  the  shambles!     The  worst  of  the   danger's   over  — 

-  G 


54  CECIL    CASTLEMArNE's    GAGE. 

they  've  had  their  fill  of  the  slaughter ;  hut  we  sail  to- 
morrow night  for  the  French  coast  —  England's  no  place 
for  my  master." 

Cecil  Castlemaine  let  go  her  hold  upon  the  boy,  and 
her  hand  closed  convulsively  upon  the  dainty  handker- 
chief—  her  gage  sent  so  faithfully  back  to  her  ! 

The  child  looked  upon  her  face ;  perchance,  in  his  mas- 
ter's delirium,  he  had  caught  some  knowledge  of  the  stoiy 
that  hung  to  that  broidered  toy. 

"  If  you  are  his  friend,  madame,  doubtless  you  have 
some  last  word  to  send  him  ?" 

Cecil  Castlemaine,  whom  nothing  moved,  whom  nothing 
softened,  bowed  her  head  at  the  simple  question,  her  heart 
wrestling  sorely,  her  lips  set  together  in  unswerving  pride, 
a  mist  before  her  haughty  eyes,  the  broidered  shield  upcm 
her  handkerchief — the  shield  of  her  stately  and  unyield- 
ing race  —  pressed  close  against  her  breast. 

"You  have  no  word  for  him,  lady?" 

Her  lips  parted  ;  she  signed  him  away.  Was  this  child 
to  see  her  yielding  to  such  weakness  ?  Had  she,  Countess 
of  Castlemaine,  no  better  pride,  no  better  strength,  no 
better  power  of  resolve,  than  this  ? 

The  boy  lingered. 

"  I  will  tell  Sir  Fulke  then,  lady,  that  the  ruined  have 
no  friends?" 

Whiter  and  prouder  still  grew  the  delicate  beauty  of 
her  face  ;  she  raised  her  stately  head,  haughtily  as  she 
had  used  to  glance  over  a  glittering  Court,  where  each 
voice  murmured  praise  of  her  loveliness  and  reproach  of 
her  coldness ;  and  placed  the  fragile  toy  of  lace  back  in 
the  boy's  hands. 

"  Go,  seek  your  master,  and  give  him  this  in  gage  thai 
their  calamity  makes  friends  more  dear  to  us  than  tlieli 
Buccess.     Go,  he  will  know  its  meaning !  " 

In  place  of  the  noon  chimes  the  curfew  was  ringing 


CECIL    CASTLEMAINE'S    GAGE.  35 

from  the  bell-tower,  the  swallows  were  gone  to  roost 
amidst  the  ivy,  and  the  herons  slept  with  their  heads 
under  their  silvery  wings  among  the  rushes  by  the  river- 
side, the  ferns  and  wild  hyacinths  were  damp  with  even- 
ing dew,  and  the  summer  starlight  glistened  amidst  \he 
quivering  woodland  leaves.  There  was  the  silence  of 
coming  night  over  the  vast  forest  glades,  and  no  sound 
broke  the  stillness,  save  the  song  of  the  grasshopper  stir- 
ring the  tangled  grasses,  or  the  sweet  low  sigh  of  the  west 
wind  fanning  the  bells  of  the  flowers,  Cecil  Castlemaine 
stood  once  more  on  the  rose-terrace,  shrouded  in  the  dense 
twilight  shade  flung  from  above  by  the  beech-boughs, 
waiting,  listening,  catching  every  rustle  of  the  leaves, 
every  tremor  of  the  heads  of  the  roses,  yet  hearing  noth- 
ing in  the  stillness  around  but  the  quick,  uncertain  throbs 
of  her  heart  beating  like  the  wing  of  a  caged  bird  under 
its  costly  lace.  Pride  was  forgotten  at  length,  and  she 
only  remembered  —  fear  and  love. 

In  the  silence  and  the  solitude  came  a  step  that  she 
knew,  came  a  presence  that  she  felt.  She  bowed  her  head 
upon  her  hands ;  it  w'as  new  to  her  this  weakness,  this 
terror,  this  anguish  of  joy  ;  she  sought  to  calm  herself,  to 
steel  herself,  to  summon  back  her  pride,  her  strength ;  she 
scorned  herself  for  it  all ! 

His  hand  touched  her,  his  voice  fell  on  her  ear  onco 
more,  eager,  breathless,  broken. 

"  Cecil !  Cecil !  is  this  true  ?  Is  my  ruin  thrice  blessed, 
or  am  I  raad,  and  dream  of  heaven?" 

She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  her  old 
proud  glance,  her  lips  trembling  with  words  that  all  hei 
pride  could  not  summon  into  speech  ;  then  her  eyes  filled 
with  warm,  blinding  tears,  and  softened  to  new  beauty ; 
—  scarce  louder  than  the  sigh  of  the  wind  among  the 
flower-bells  came  her  words  to  Fulke  Ravensworth's  ear, 
as  her  royal  head  bowed  on  his  breast. 

"  Stay,  stay !  Or,  if  you  fly,  your  exile  shall  be  my 
exile,  your  danger  my  danger  I  " 


36  CECIL  castlemaine's   aAGe.. 

The  kerchief  is  a  treasured  heirloom  to  her  descend- 
ants now,  and  fair  women  of  her  race,  who  inherit  from 
her  her  azure  eyes  and  her  queenly  grace,  will  recall  how 
the  proudest  Countess  of  their  Line  loved  a  ruined  gen- 
tleman so  well  that  she  was  Avedded  to  him  at  even,  in 
her  private  chapel,  at  the  hour  of  his  greatest  peril,  his 
lowest  fortune,  and  went  with  him  across  the  seas  till 
friendly  intercession  in  high  places  gained  them  royal 
permission  to  dwell  again  at  Lilliesford  unmolested.  And 
how  it  was  ever  noticeable  to  those  who  murmured  at  her 
coldness  and  her  pride,  that  Cecil  Castlemaine,  cold  and 
negligent  as  of  yore  to  all  the  world  beside,  would  seek 
her  husband's  smile,  and  love  to  meet  his  eyes,  and  cher- 
ish her  beauty  for  his  sake,  and  be  restless  in  his  absence, 
even  for  the  short  span  of  a  day,  with  a  softer  and  more 
clinging  tenderness  than  was  found  in  many  weaker, 
many  humbler  women. 

They  are  gone  now  the  men  and  women  of  that  genera- 
tion, and  their  voices  come  only  to  us  through  the  faint 
echo  of  their  written  words.  In  summer  nights  the  old 
beech-trees  toss  their  leaves  in  the  silvery  light  of  the 
stars,  and  the  river  flows  on  unchanged,  with  the  cease- 
less, mournful  burden  of  its  mystic  song,  the  same  now 
as  in  the  midsummer  of  a  century  and  a  half  ago.  The 
cobweb  handkerchief  lies  before  me  with  its  broidered 
shield  ;  the  same  now  as  long  years  since,  when  it  was 
treasured  close  in  a  soldier's  breast,  and  held  by  him 
dearer  than  all  save  his  honor  and  his  word.  So,  things 
pulseless  and  passionless  endure,  and  human  life  passes 
away  as  swiftly  as  a  song  dies  off  from  the  air  —  as  quickly 
succeeded,  and  as  quickly  forgot !  Ronsard's  refrain  's 
the  refrain  of  our  lives : 

Le  temps  s'en  va,  le  temps  s'en  va,  ma  dame! 
Las!  le  temps,  non;  mais  nous  nous,  en  allongl 


LITTLE  GRAND  AND  THE  MARCHIONESS; 


OB, 


OUR  MALTESE  PEERAGE. 


LL  first  things  are  voted  the  best :  first  kisses, 
first  toga  virilis,  first  hair  of  the  first  whisker ; 
first  sjieeches  are  often  so  superior  that  members 
subside  after  making  them,  fearful  of  eclipsing  them- 
selves ;  first  money  won  at  play  must  always  be  best,  as 
it  is  always  the  dearest  bought ;  and  first  wives  are  always 
so  super-excellent,  that,  if  a  man  lose  one,  he  is  gener- 
ally as  fearful  of  hazarding  a  second  as  a  trout  of  biting 
tAvice. 

But  of  all  first  things  commend  me  to  one's  first  uni- 
form. No  matter  that  we  get  sick  of  harness,  and  get 
into  mufti  as  soon  as  we  can  now ;  there  is  no  more  ex- 
quisite pleasure  than  the  first  sight  of  one's  self  in  shako 
and  sabretasche.  How  we  survey  ourselves  in  the  glass, 
and  ring  for  hot  water,,  that  the  handsome  housemaid 
may  see  us  in  all  our  glory,  and  lounge  accidentally  into 
our  sisters'  schoolroom,  that  the  governess,  who  is  nice 
looking  and  rather  flirty,  may  go  down  on  the  spot  before 
us  and  our  scarlet  and  gold,  chains  and  buttons !  One's 
first  uniform  !  Oh  !  the  exquisite  sensation  locked  up  for 
lis  in  that  first  box  from  Sagnarelli,  or  Bond  Street! 

I  rcmem])er  vuj  fir.^t  uniform.  I  was  eighteen  —  as  raw 
a  young  cub  as  you  could  want  to  see.  I  had  not  been 
4  (37) 


38  LITTLE    GKAND    AND    THE    MAUCIII0NES8. 

licked  into  shape  by  a  public  school,  whose  tongue  may 
be  rough,  but  cleans  off"  grievances  and  nonsense  better 
chau  anything  else.  I  had  been  in  that  hotbed  of  efieiu- 
inacy,  Church  principles  and  weak  tea,  a  Private  Tutor's, 
where  mamma's  darlings  are  wrapped  up,  and  stuffed  with 
a  little  Terence  and  Horace  to  show  grand  at  home ;  and 
upon  my  life  I  do  believe  my  sister  Julia,  aged  thirteen, 
was  more  wide  awake  and  up  to  life  than  I  was,  when 
the  governor,  an  old  rector,  who  always  put  mc  in  mind 
of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  got  mc  gazetted  to  as  crack  a 
rorps  as  any  in  the  Line. 

The  — th  (familiarly  known  in  the  Service  as  the 
"  Dare  Devils,"  from  old  Peninsular  deeds)  were  just  then 
at  Malta,  and  with,  among  other  trifles,  a  chest  protector 
from  my  father,  and  a  recipe  for  milk-arrowroot  from 
my  Aunt  Matilda  who  lived  in  a  constant  state  of  catarrh 
and  of  cure  for  the  same,  tumbled  across  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay, and  found  myself  in  Byron's  confounded  "little 
military  hot-house,"  where  most  military  men,  some  time 
or  other,  have  roasted  themselves  to  death,  climbing  its 
hilly  streets,  flirting  with  its  Valetta  belles,  drinking  Bass 
in  its  hot  verandas,  yawning  with  ennui  in  its  palace, 
cursing  its  sirocco,  and  being  done  by  its  Jew  sharpers. 

From  a  private  tutor's  to  a  crack  mess  at  Malta !  — 
from  a  convent  to  a  casino  could  hardly  be  a  greater 
change.  Just  at  first  I  was  as  much  astray  as  a  young 
pup  taken  into  a  stubble-field,  and  wondering  what  the 
deuce  he  is  to  do  there ;  but  as  it  is  a  pup's  nature  to 
sniff  at  birds  and  start  them,  so  is  it  a  boy's  nature  to 
snatch  at  the  champagne  of  life  as  soon  as  he  catches 
sight  of  it,  though  you  may  have  brought  him  up  ou 
water  from  his  cradle.  I  took  to  it,  at  least,  like  a  re- 
triever to  water-ducks,  though  I  was  green  enough  to  be 
a  first-rate  butt  for  many  a  da}'',  and  the  practical  jokes 
I  had  i)assed  on  me  would  have  furnished  the  Times  with 
C)od  for  crushers  on  "  The  Shocking  State  of  the  Army'* 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  <{9 

for  a  twelvemonth.  My  chief  friend  and  ally,  tormentor 
and  initiator,  was  a  little  fellow,  Cosmo  Grandison  ;  in 
Ours  he  was  "  Little  Grand "  to  every))ody,  from  the 
Colonel  to  the  baggage-women.  He  wa3  seventeen,  and 
had  joined  about  a  year.  What  a  pretty  boy  he  was, 
too !  All  the  fair  ones  in  Valetta,  from  his  Excellency's 
"wife  to  our  washerwomen,  admired  that  boy,  and  spoilt 
hira  and  petted  him,  and  I  do  not  believe  there  was  a  man 
of  Ours  who  would  have  had  heart  to  sit  in  court-martial 
on  Little  Grand  if  he  had  broken  every  one  of  the 
Queen's  regulations,  and  set  every  General  Order  at  defi- 
ance, I  think  I  see  him  now  —  he  was  new  to  Malta  as. 
I,  having  just  landed  with  the  Dare  Devils,  en  route  from 
India  to  Portsmouth  —  as  he  sat  one  day  on  the  table  in 
the  mess-room  as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  in  spite  of  the  broil- 
ing sun,  smoking,  and  swinging  his  legs,  and  settling  his 
forage-cap  on  one  side  of  his  head,  as  pretty-looking, 
plucky,  impudent  a  young  monkey  as  ever  piqued  him- 
self on  being  an  old  hand,  and  a  knowing  bird  not  to  be 
caught  by  any  chaff  however  ingeniously  prepared. 

"Simon,"  began  Little  Grand  (my  "St.  John,"  first 
barbarized  by  Mr.  Pope  for  the  convenience  of  his  dac- 
tyles  and  hexameters  into  Sinjin,  being  further  barbarized 
by  this  little  imp  into  Simon)  —  "  Simon,  do  you  want  to 
see  the  finest  woman  in  this  confounded  little  pepper-box  ? 
You're  no  judge  of  a  woman,  tliough,  you  muff — taste 
been  warped,  perhaps,  by  constant  contemplation  of  that 
virgin  Aunt  Minerva  —  Matilda,  is  it  ?  all  the  same." 

"Hang  your  chaff,"  said  I;  "you'd  make  one  out  a 
fool." 

"Precisely,  my  dear  Simon;  just  what  you  are!"  re- 
Bpon<led  Little  Grand,  pleasantly.  "Bless  your  heart, 
I've  been  engaged  to  half  a  dozen  women  since  I  joined, 
A  man  can  hardly  help  it,  you  see;  they've  such  a  way 
of  drawing  you  on,  you  don't  like  to  disappoint  th(!m, 
poor  little  dears,  and  so  you  compromise  yourself  out  of 


iO  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

sheer  benevolence.  There's  such  a  run  on  a  handsome 
man  —  it 's  a  great  bore.  Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  shave 
my  head,  or  do  something  to  disfigure  myself,  as  Spurina 
did.  Poor  fellow,  I  feel  for  him !  Well,  Simon,  you 
don't  seem  curious  to  know  who  my  beauty  is?" 

"  One  of  those  Mitchell  girls  of  the  Twenty -first  ?  You 
waltzed  with  'em  all  night ;  but  they  're  too  tall  for  you, 
Grand." 

"The  Mitchell  girls!"  ejaculated  he,  with  supreme 
scorn.  "  Great  maypoles !  they  go  about  with  the  Fusi- 
liers like  a  pair  of  colors.  On  every  ball-room  battle- 
field one's  safe  to  see  them  flaunting  away,  and  as  every- 
body has  a  shot  at  'em,  their  hearts  must  be  pretty  well 
riddled  into  holes  by  this  time.  No,  mine's  rather  higher 
game  than  that.  My  mother's  brother-in-law's  aunt's 
sister's  cousin's  cousin  once  removed  was  Viscount  Twad- 
dle, and  I  don't  go  anything  lower  than  the  Peerage." 

"What,  is  it  somebody  you've  met  at  his  Excellency's?" 

"Wrong  again,  beloved  Simon.  It's  nobody  I've  met 
at  old  Stars  and  Garters',  though  his  lady-wife  could  no 
more  do  without  me  than  without  her  sal  volatile  and 
flirtations.  No,  she  don't  go  there  ;  she's  too  high  for  that 
sort  of  thing  —  sick  of  it.  After  all  the  European 
Courts,  Malta  must  be  rather  small  and  slow.  I  was 
introduced  to  her  yesterday,  and,"  continued  Little 
Grand,  more  solemnly  than  was  his  wont,  "  I  do  assure 
you  she's  superb,  divine;  and  I'm  not  very  easy  to 
please." 

"What's  her  name?"  I  asked,  rather  impressed  with 
this  view  of  a  lady  too  high  for  old  Stars  and  Garters,  as 
we  irreverently  termed  her  Majesty's  representative  in 
her  island  of  Malta. 

Little  Grand  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  lips  to  correct  me 
with  more  dignity. 

"Her  title,  my  dear  Simon,  is  the  Marchioness  St 
Julian." 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCUI0NES8.  41 

"Is  that  an  English  peerage,  Grand?" 

"  Hum !  What !  Oh  yes,  of  course !  What  else 
chould  it  be,  you  owl !  " 

Not  being  in  a  condition  to  decide  this  point,  I  was 
ailent,  and  he  went  on,  growing  more  impressive  at  each 
phrase : 

"  She  is  splendid,  really !  And  I  'ra  a  very  difficile 
fellow,  you  know;  but  such  hair,  such  eyes,  one  doesn't 
see  every  day  in  those  sun-dried  Mitchells  or  those  little 
pink  Bovilliers.  Well,  yesterday,  after  that  confounded 
luncheon  (how  I  hate  all  those  complimentary  affairs!  — 
one  can't  enjoy  the  truffles  for  talking  to  the  ladies,  nor 
enjoy  the  ladies  for  discussing  the  truffles),  I  went  for  a 
ride  with  Conran  out  to  Villa  Neponte.  I  left  him  there, 
and  went  down  to  see  the  overland  steamers  come  in. 
While  I  was  waiting,  I  got  into  talk,  somehow  or  other, 
with  a  very  agreeable,  gentleman-like  fellow,  Avho  asked 
me  if  I'd  only  just  come  to  Malta,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  —  you  know  the  introductory  style  of  action  —  till 
we  got  quite  good  friends,  and  he  told  me  he  was  living 
outside  this  wretched  little  hole  at  the  Casa  di  Fieri,  and 
said  —  wasn't  it  civil  of  him?  —  said  he  should  be  very 
happy  to  see  me  if  I  'd  call  any  time.  He  gave  me  his 
card  —  Lord  Adolphus  Fitzhervey  —  and  a  man  with  him 
called  him  *  Dolph.'  As  good  luck  had  it,  my  weed  went 
out  just  while  we  were  talking,  and  Fitzhervey  was  mon- 
strously pleasant,  searched  all  over  him  for  a  fusee, 
could  n't  find  one,  and  asked  me  to  go  up  with  him  to  the 
Cusa  di  Fiori  and  get  a  light.  Of  course  I  did,  and  he 
and  I  and  Guatamara  had  some  sherbet  and  a  smoke 
totrcther,  and  then  he  introduced  me  to  the  Marchioness 
St.  Julian,  his  sister  —  by  Jove!  such  a  magnificent 
woman,  Simon,  you  never  saw  one  like  her,  I'll  wager. 
She  was  uncommonly  agreeable,  too,  and  such  a  smile,  my 
boy!  She  seemed  to  like  me  wonderfully  —  not  rare  tliat, 
though,  you'll  say  —  and  asked  me  to  go  and  take  coffee 


42  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

there  to-night  after  mess,  and  bring  one  of  my  chuma 
with  me ;  and  as  I  like  to  show  you  life,  young  one,  and 
your  taste  wants  improving  after  Aunt  Minerva,  you  may 
come,  if  you  like.  Hallo  !  there's  Conran.  I  say,  don't 
tell  him.     I  don't  Avant  any  poaching  on  my  manor." 

Conran  came  in  at  that  minute ;  he  was  then  a  Brevet- 
Major  and  Captain  in  Ours,  and  one  of  the  older  men 
who  spoilt  Little  Grand  in  one  way,  as  much  as  the 
women  did  in  another.  He  was  a  fine,  powerful  fellow, 
with  eyes  like  an  eagle's,  and  pluck  like  a  lion's  ;  he  had  a 
grave  look,  and  had  been  of  late  more  silent  and  self- 
reticent  than  the  other  roistering,  debonnair,  light-hearted 
"  Dare  Devils ; "  but  though,  perhaps,  tired  of  the  wild 
escapades  which  reputation  had  once  attributed  to  him, 
was  always  the  most  lenient  to  the  boy's  monkey  tricks, 
and  always  the  one  to  whom  he  went  if  his  larks  had  cost 
him  too  dear,  or  if  he  was  in  a  scrape  from  which  he  saw 
no  exit.  Conran  had  recently  come  in  for  a  good  deal 
of  money,  and  there  were  few  bright  eyes  in  Malta  that 
would  not  have  smiled  kindly  on  him ;  but  he  did  not 
care  much  for  any  of  them.  There  was  some  talk  of  a 
love-affair  before  he  went  to  India,  that  was  the  cause  of 
his  hard-heartedness,  though  I  must  say  he  did  not  look 
much  like  a  victim  to  the  grande  passion,  in  my  ideas, 
which  were  drawn  from  valentines  and  odes  in  the  "  Wo- 
man, thou  fond  and  fair  deceiver"  style;  in  love  that 
turn(id  its  collars  down  and  let  its  hair  go  uncut  and 
refused  to  eat,  and  recovered  with  a  rapidity  proportionate 
to  its  ostentation  ;  and  I  did  not  know  that,  if  a  man  has 
lost  his  treasure,  he  7nay  mourn  it  so  deeply  that  he  may 
refuse  to  run  about  like  Harpagon,  crying  for  his  cassette 
to  an  audience  that  only  laughs  at  his  miseries. 

"  Well,  young  ones,"  said  Conran,  as  he  came  in  and 
threw  down  his  cap  and  whip,  "  here  you  are,  spending 
your  hours  in  pipes  and  bad  wine.  What  a  blessing  it  is 
to  have  a  palate  that  isn't  blase,  and  that  Avill  swallow  all 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    T  [IE    MARCHIONESS.  43 

wine  just  because  it  is  wine !  Tliat  S»)utl»  African  goes 
down  with  better  relish,  Little  Grand,  than  you'll  find  in 
Chateau  Margaux  ten  years  hence.  As  soon  p,s  one  begins 
to  want  touching  up  with  olives,  one's  real  gusto  is  gone." 

"  Hang  olives,  sir !  they're  beastly,"  said  Little  Grjiud  ; 
"  and  I  don't  care  who  pretends  they  're  not.  Olives  are 
like  sermons  and  wives,  everybody  makes  a  Avry  face,  and 
would  rather  be  excused  'em.  Major ;  but  it 's  the  custom 
to  call  'em  good  things,  and  so  men  bolt  'em  in  com- 
plaisance, and  while  they  hate  the  salt-Avater  flavor,  des- 
cant on  the  delicious  rose  taste  ! " 

"  Quite  true,  Little  Grand !  but  one  takes  olives  to 
enhance  the  wine ;  and  so,  perhaps,  other  men's  sermons 
make  one  enjoy  one's  racier  novel,  and  other  men's  wives 
make  one  appreciate  one's  liberty  still  better.  Don't 
abuse  olives ;  you  '11  want  them  figuratively  and  literally 
before  you've  done  either  drinking  or  living!" 

"Oh!  confound  it.  Major,"  cried  Little  Grand,  "I  do 
hope  and  trust  a  spent  ball  may  have  the  kindness  to 
double  me  up  and  finish  me  off  before  then." 

"  You  're  not  philosophic,  my  boy." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  no ! "  ejaculated  Little  Grand,  piously. 
"  I  've  an  uncle,  a  very  great  philosopher,  beats  all  the 
sages  hollow,  from  Bion  to  Buckle,  and  writes  in  the 
Metaphysical  Quarterly,  but  I'll  be  shot  if  he  don't  spend 
so  much  time  in  trying  to  puzzle  out  what  life  is,  that  all 
his  has  slipped  away  without  his  having  lived  one  bit. 
When  I  was  staying  with  him  one  Christmas,  he  began 
boring  me  with  a  frightful  theory  on  the  non-existence  of 
matter.  I  could  n't  stand  that,  so  I  cut  him  short,  and 
get  him  down  to  the  luncheon-table ;  and  while  he  was 
full  swing  with  a  Strasbourg  pite  and  Comet  hock,  I 
stopped  him  and  asked  him  if,  with  them  in  his  mouth, 
he  believed  in  matter  or  not  ?  He  was  shut  up,  of  c(turse  ; 
bless  your  soul,  those  theorists  always  are,  if  you  're  down 
upon  'em  with  a  little  fact!" 


44  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

"  Such  as  a  Strasbourg  pAte  ?  —  that  is  an  unanswerable 
argument  Avith  most  men,  I  believe,"  said  Conran,  avIio 
liked  to  hear  the  boy  chatter,  "  What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  yourself  to-night,  Grand  ?  " 

"I  am  going  to — ar — hum  —  to  a  friend  of  mine," 
said  Little  Grand,  less  glibly  than  usual. 

"  Very  well ;  I  only  asked,  because  I  would  have  taken 
you  to  Mrs.  Fortescue's  with  me;  they're  having  some 
a<;ting  proverbs  (horrible  exertion  in  this  oven  of  a  place, 
with  the  thermometer  at  a  hundred  and  twenty  degrees); 
but  if  you  've  better  sport  it's  no  matter.  Take  care  what 
friends  you  make,  though.  Grand  ;  you  '11  find  some  Mal- 
tese acquaintances  very  costly." 

"  Thank  you.  I  should  say  I  can  take  care  of  myself," 
replied  Little  Grand,  with  immeasurable  scorn  and 
dignity. 

Conran  laughed,  struck  him  across  the  shoulders  Avith 
his  whip,  stroked  his  OAvn  moustaches,  and  Aveut  out  again, 
whistling  one  of  Verdi's  airs. 

"  I  don't  Avant  him  bothering,  you  knoAV,"  explained 
Little  Grand  ;  "  she 's  such  a  deuced  magnificent  Avoman ! " 

She  was  a  magnificent  Avoman,  this  Eudoxia  Adelaida, 
Marchioness  St.  Julian ;  and  proud  enough  Littlr>  Grand 
'.nd  I  felt  Avhen  Ave  had  that  soft,  jcAvelled  hand  held  out 
to  us,  and  that  beAvitching  smile  beamed  upon  us,  and 
that  joyous  presence  dazzling  in  our  eyes,  as  Ave  sat  in 
the  draAving-room  of  that  Casa  di  Fiori.  She  Avas  about 
thirty-five,  I  should  say  (boys  ahvays  Avorship  those  who 
might  have  been  schoolfellows  of  their  mothers),  tall  and 
stately,  and  imposing,  Avith  the  most  beautiful  pink  and 
white  skin,  with  a  fine  set  of  teeth,  raven  hair,  and  eyes 
tinted  most  exquisitely.  Oh !  she  Avas  magnificent,  our 
Marchioness  St.  Julian!  Into  Avhat  unutterable  insig- 
nificance, Avhat  miserable,  Avashcd-out  shadoAVS  sank 
Stars  and  Garters'  lady,  and  the  Mitchell  girls,  and  all 
the  belles  of  La  Valetta,  Avhom  we  hadn't  thought  so  very 
bad-lookincr  before. 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  4C 

There  was  a  young  creature  sitting  a  little  out  of  th<" 
radiance  of  liglit,  reading ;  but  we  had  no  eyes  for  any- 
body except  the  Marchioness  St.  Julian.  We  were  in 
such  high  society,  too ;  there  was  her  brother,  Lord 
Adolphus,  and  his  bosom  Pylades,  the  Baron  Guatamara; 
and  there  was  a  big  fellow,  with  hooked  nose  and  very 
curly  hair,  who  was  introduced  to  us  as  the  Prince  of 
Oraugia  Magnolia ;  and  a  little  wiry  fellow,  with  bits  of 
red  and  blue  ribbon,  and  a  star  or  two  in  his  button-hole, 
who  was  M.  le  Due  de  Saint-Jeu.  We  were  quite  dazzled 
with  the  coruscations  of  so  much  aristocracy,  especially 
when  they  talked  across  to  each  other — so  familiarly, 
too — of  Johnnie  (that  was  Lord  Russell),  and  Pam,  and 
"old  Buck"  (my  godfather  Buckingham,  Lord  Adol- 
phus explained  to  us),  and  Montpensier  and  old  Join- 
ville ;  and  chatted  of  when  they  dined  at  the  Tuileries, 
and  stayed  at  Compiegne,  and  hunted  at  Belvoir,  and 
spent  Christmas  at  Holcombe  or  Longleat.  We  were  in 
such  high  society !  How  contemptible  appeared  Mrs. 
ATaberly's  and  the  Fortescue  soirees ;  how  infinitesimally 
small  grew  Charlie  Ruthven,  and  Harry  Villiers,  and 
Grey  and  Albany,  and  all  the  other  young  fellows  who 
thought  it  such  great  guns  to  be  au  mieux  with  little 
Graziella,  or  invited  to  Sir  George  Dashaway's.  We 
were  a  cut  above  those  things  now — rather! 

That  splendid  Marchioness !  There  was  a  head  for  a 
coronet,  if  you  like!  And  how  benign  she  was !  Grand 
sat  on  the  couch  beside  her,  and  I  on  an  ottoman  on  her 
left,  and  she  leaned  back  in  her  magnificent  toilette, 
flirting  her  fan  like  a  Castilian,  and  flashing  upon  us  her 
superb  eyes  from  behind  it ;  not  speaking  very  much,  but 
showing  her  white  teeth  in  scores  of  heavenly  smiles,  till 
Little  Grand,  the  blase  man  of  seventeen,  and  I  the  raw 
Moses  of  private  tutelage,  both  felt  that  we  had  never 
come  across  anything  like  this ;  never,  in  fact,  seen  a 
woman  worth  a  glance  before. 


46  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCniONKKS. 

She  listened  to  us  —  or  rather  to  him;  I  was  too  aw€^ 
struck  to  advance  much  beyond  monosyllables — and 
laughed  at  him,  and  smiled  encouragingly  on  my  gauche- 
rie  (and  when  a  boy  is  gatiche,  how  ready  he  is  to  worship 
such  a  helping  hand!),  and  beamed  upon  us  both  with 
an  effulgence  compared  with  which  the  radiance  of  Helen, 
Galatea,  CEnone,  Messalina,  Lais,  and  all  the  legendary 
beauties  one  reads  about,  must  have  been  what  the  rail- 
way night-lamps  that  never  burn  are  to  the  prismatic 
luminaries  of  Cremorne.  They  Avere  all  uncommonly 
pleasant,  all  except  the  girl  who  was  reading,  whom  they 
introduced  as  the  Signorina  da'  Guari,  a  Tuscan,  and 
daughter  to  Orangia  Magnolia,  with  one  of  those  marvel- 
lously beautiful  faces  that  one  sees  in  the  most  splendid 
painters'  models  of  the  Campagna,  who  never  lifted  her 
head  scarcely,  though  Guatamara  and  Saint-Jeu  did  their 
best  to  make  her.  But  all  the  others  were  wonderfully 
agreeable,  and  quite  fete'd  Little  Grand  and  me,  at  which, 
they  being  more  than  double  our  age,  and  seemingly  at 
home  alike  with  Belgravia  and  Newmarket,  the  Fau- 
bourg and  the  Pytchley,  we  felt  to  grow  at  least  a  foot 
each  in  the  aroma  of  this  Casa  di  Fieri. 

"  This  is  rather  stupid,  Doxie,"  began  Lord  Adolphus, 
addressing  his  sister  ;  "  not  much  entertainment  for  our 
guests.  What  do  you  say  to  a  game  of  vingt-et-un,  eh, 
Mr.  Grandison?" 

Little  Grand  fixed  his  blue  eyes  on  the  Marchioness,  an; 
eaid  he  should  be  very  happy,  but,  as  for  entertainment — 
he  wanted  no  other. 

"  No  comi[)\'uneuis, petit  ami,"  laughed  the  Marchioness, 
with  a  dainty  blow  of  her  fan.  "  Yes,  Dolph,  have  vingt- 
et-un,  or  music,  or  anything  you  like.  Sing  us  some- 
thing, Lucrezia." 

The  Italian  girl  thus  addressed  looked  up  with  a  pas- 
sionate, haughty  flush,  and  answered,  with  wonderfully 
little  courtesy  I  considered,  "  I  shall  not  sing  to-night." 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  47 

"Are  you  unwell,  fairest  friend?"  asked  the  Due  de 
Saint-Jeu,  bending  his  little  wiry  figure  over  her. 

She  shrank  away  from  him,  and  drew  back,  a  hot  color 
in  her  cheeks, 

"  Siguore,  I  did  not  address  you." 

The  Marchioness  looked  angry,  if  those  divine  eyes 
could  look  anything  so  mortal.  However,  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Lucrezia,  we  can't  make  you  sing,  of 
course,  if  you  won't.  I,  for  my  part,  always  do  any  little 
thing  I  can  to  amuse  anybody ;  if  I  fail,  I  fail ;  I  have 
done  my  best,  and  my  friends  will  appreciate  the  effort, 
if  not  the  result.  No,  my  dear  Prince,  do  not  tease  her," 
said  the  Marchioness  to  Orangia  Magnolia,  who  was  argu- 
ing, I  thought,  somewhat  imperatively  for  such  a  well-bred 
?  ud  courtly  man,  with  Lucrezia ;  "  we  will  have  vingt- 
3t-un,  and  Lucrezia  will  give  us  the  delight  of  her  voice 
some  other  evening,  I  dare  say." 

We  had  vingt-et-un ;  the  Marchioness  would  not  play, 
but  she  sat  in  her  rose  velvet  arm-chair,  just  behind  Lit- 
tle Grand,  putting  in  pretty  little  speeches,  and  questions, 
and  bagatelles,  and  calling  attention  to  the  gambols  of 
her  darling  greyhound  Cupidon,  and  tapping  Little  Grand 
with  her  fan,  till,  I  believe,  he  neither  knew  how  the 
game  went,  nor  what  money  he  lost ;  and  I,  gazing  at  her, 
and  cursing  him  for  his  facile  tongue,  never  noticed  my 
naturels,  could  n't  have  said  what  the  maximum  was  if 
you  had  paid  me  for  it,  and  might,  for  anything  I  knew 
to  the  contrary,  have  been  seeing  my  life  slip  away  with 
each  card  as  Balzac's  hero  with  the  Peau  de  Chagrin. 
Then  we  had  sherbet,  and  wine,  and  cognac  for  those 
who  preferred  it ;  and  the  Marchioness  gave  us  permis- 
sion to  smoke,  and  took  a  dainty  hookah  with  an  amber 
mouthpiece  for  her  own  use  (divine  she  did  look,  too, 
with  that  hookah  between  her  ruby  lips!);  and  the 
smoke,  and   the   cognac,  and   the  smiles,  unloosed   our 


48  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARC1I10NES8. 

tongues,  and  we  spake  like  very  great  donkeys,  I  dare 
Bay,  but  I  'm  sure  with  not  a  tenth  part  the  wisdom  that 
Balaam's  ass  developed  in  his  brief  and  pithy  con- 
versation. 

However  great  the  bosh  we  talked,  though,  we  found 
very  lenient  auditors.  Fitzhervey  and  Guatamara 
laughed  at  all  our  witticisms ;  the  Prince  of  Orangia 
Magnolia  joined  in  with  a  "  Per  Baccho ! "  and  a  "  Bravo ! " 
and  little  Saint-Jeu  wheezed,  and  gave  a  faint  echo  of 
"Mon  Dieu!"  and  "Tres  bien,  tres  bien,  vraiment!"  and 
the  Marchioness  St.  Julian  laughed  too,  and  joined  in  our 
nonsense,  and,  what  was  much  more,  bent  a  willing  ear 
to  our  compliments,  no  matter  how  florid  ;  and  Saint-Jeu 
told  us  a  story  or  two,  more  amusing  than  comme  il  faut. 
at  which  the  Marchioness  tried  to  look  grave,  and  did 
look  shocked,  but  laughed  for  all  that  behind  her  fan ; 
and  Lucrezia  da'  Guari  sat  in  shadow,  as  still  and  as 
silent  as  the  Parian  Euphrosyne  on  the  console,  though 
her  passionate  eyes  and  expressive  face  looked  the  very 
antipodes  of  silence  and  statuetteism,  as  she  flashed  half- 
shy,  half-scornful,  looks  upon  us. 

If  the  first  part  of  the  evening  had  been  delightful, 
this  was  something  like  Paradise !  It  was  such  high 
society!  and  with  just  dash  enough  of  Mabille  and  cou- 
lisses laisseraller  to  give  it  piquancy.  How  different  was 
the  pleasantry  and  freedom  of  these  real  aristos,  after  the 
humdrum  dinners  and  horrid  bores  of  dances  that  those 
gnobs  of  Maberlys,  and  Fortescues,  and  Mitchells,  made 
believe  to  call  Society ! 

What  with  the  wine,  and  the  smoke,  and  the  smiles,  I 
was  n't  quite  clear  as  to  whether  I  saw  twenty  horses'  heads 
or  one  when  I  was  fairly  into  saddle,  and  riding  back  to 
the  town,  just  as  the  first  dawn  was  rising,  Aphrodite- 
like, from  the  far  blue  waves  of  the  Mediterranean. 
Little  Grand  was  better  seasoned,  but  even  he  was  dizzy 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS  49 

with  the  jDarting  words  of  the  Marcliiouess,  Avhich  had 
softly  breathed  the  delicious  passport,  "Come  to-morrow." 

"  By  Jupiter ! "  swore  Little  Grand,  obliged  to  givo 
lelief  to  his  feelings  —  "by  Jupiter,  Simon!  did  you  ever 
see  such  a  glorious,  enchanting,  divine,  delicious,  adorable 
creature  ?  Faugh !  who  could  look  at  those  Mitchell 
girls  after  her  ?  Such  eyes !  such  a  smile  !  such  a  figure ! 
Talk  of  a  coronet !  no  imperial  crown  would  be  half  good 
enough  for  her !  And  how  pleasant  tliose  fellows  are !  I 
like  that  little  chafiy  chap,  the  Duke ;  what  a  slap-up 
story  that  was  about  the  bal  de  I'Opera.  And  Fitzher- 
vey,  too  ;  there 's  something  uncommonly  thorough-bred 
about  him,  ain't  there  ?  And  Guatamara  's  an  immensely 
jolly  fellow.  Ah,  my  boy  !  that's  something  like  society  ; 
all  the  ease  and  freedom  of  real  rank  ;  no  nonsense  about 
them,  as  there  is  about  snobs.  I  say,  what  wouldn't  the 
other  fellows  give  to  be  in  our  luck?  I  think  even  Con- 
ran  would  warm  up  about  her.  But,  Simon,  she's  deucedly 
taken  with  me  —  she  is,  u])on  my  word ;  and  she  knows 
how  to  show  it  you,  too !  By  George  !  one  could  die  for 
a  Avoman  like  that — eh  ?" 

"  Die ! "  I  echoed,  while  my  horse  stumbled  along  up 
the  hilly  road,  and  I  swayed  forward,  pretty  nearly  over 
his  head,  while  poetry  rushed  to  my  lips,  and  electric 
sparks  danced  before  my  eyes  : 

"  To  die  for  those  we  love!  oli,  there  is  power 
In  the  true  heart,  and  pride,  and  joy,  for  this 
It  is  to  live  without  the  vanished  light 
That  strength  is  needed  I" 

"But  I'll  be  shot  if  it  shall  be  vanished  light,"  re- 
turned Little  Grand ;  "  it  don't  look  much  like  it  yet. 
The  light's  only  just  lit,  'tis  n't  likely  it's  going  out  again 
directly;  but  she  is  a  stunner  !  and " 

"A  stunner!"  I  shouted  ;  "she's  much  more  than  that 
—  she's  an  angel,  and  I'll  lie  mucli  obliged  lo  you  to  call 
&  D 


50  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

her  by  her  right  name,  sir.  She's  a  beautiful,  noble, 
loving  woman ;  the  most  perfect  of  all  Nature's  master- 
works.  She  is  divine,  sir,  and  you  and  I  are  not  worthy 
merely  to  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment." 

"  Ain't  we,  though  ?  I  don't  care  much  about  kissing 
her  dress  ;  it's  silk,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  should  derive 
much  pleasure  from  pressing  my  lips  on  its  texture;  but 
her  cheek " 

"  Her  cheek  is  like  the  Catherine  pear, 
The  side  that's  next  the  sun!" 

I  shouted,  as  ray  horse  went  down  in  a  rut.  "She's  like 
Venus  rising  from  the  sea-shell ;  she's  like  Aurora,  when 
she  came  down  on  the  first  ray  of  the  dawn  to  Tithonus; 
she's  like  Briseis " 

"Bother  classics!  she's  like  herself,  and  beats  'em  all 
hollow.  She 's  the  finest  creature  ever  seen  on  earth,  and 
I  should  like  to  see  the  man  who'd  dare  to  say  she  wasn't. 
And — I  say,  Simon — how  much  did  you  lose  to-night  f" 

From  sublimest  heights  I  tumbled  straight  to  bathos. 
The  cold  Avater  of  Grand's  query  quenched  my  poetry, 
extinguished  my  electric  lights,  and  sobered  me  like  a 
douche  bath. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered,  with  a  sense  of  awe  ana 
horror  stealing  over  me ;  "  but  I  had  a  pony  in  my  waist- 
coat-pocket that  the  governor  had  just  sent  me ;  Guata- 
mara  changed  it  for  me,  and  —  I've  only  sixpence  left!" 

"  Old  boy,"  said  Little  Grand  to  me,  the  next  morning, 
after  early  parade,  "  come  in  my  room,  and  let 's  make  up 
some  despatches  to  the  governors.  You  see,"  he  con- 
tinued, five  minutes  after,  —  "you  see,  we're  both  of  us 
pretty  well  cleared  out ;  I  've  only  got  half  a  pony,  and 
you  have  n't  a  couple  of  fivers  left.  Now  you  know  they 
evidently  play  rather  high  at  the  Casa  di  Fiori ;  do  every- 
thing en  prince,  like  nobs  who've  Barclay?  at  their  back: 
and  one  mustn't  hang  fire;  horrid  shabby  that  would 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  51 

look.  Besides,  fancy  seeming  mean  before  her!  So  I've 
been  thinking  that,  though  governors  are  a  screwy  lot 
generally,  if  we  put  it  to  'em  clearly  the  sort  of  set  we  've 
got  into,  and  show  'em  that  we  can't  help,  now  that  we 
are  at  Rome,  doing  as  the  Romans  do,  I  should  say  they 
could  hardly  help  bleeding  a  little — eh?  Now,  listen 
how  I  've  put  it.  My  old  boy  has  a  weakness  for  titles ; 
he  married  my  mother  on  the  relationship  to  Viscount 
Twaddles  (who  doesn't  know  of  her  existence;  but  who 
does  to  talk  about  as  '  our  cousin'),  and  he'd  eat  up  miles 
of  dirt  for  a  chance  of  coming  to  a  strawberry-leaf;  ho  I 
think  this  will  touch  him  up  beautifully.  Listen !  ain't 
I  sublimely  respectful?  'I'm  sure,  my  dear  father^  you 
will  be  delighted  to  learn,  that  by  wonderful  luck,  or 
rather  I  ought  to  say  Providence,  I  have  fallen  on  my 
feet  in  Malta,  and  got  introduced  to  the  very  highest' 
(wait !  let  me  stick  a  dash  under  very)  —  *  the  very  highest 
society  here.  They  are  quite  tip-top.  To  show  you  what 
style,  I  need  only  mention  Lord  A.  Fitzhervey,  the  Baron 
Guatamara,  and  the  Marchioness  St.  Julian,  as  among 
my  kindest  friends.  They  have  been  yachting  in  the 
Levant,  and  are  now  staying  in  Malta :  they  are  all  most 
kind  to  me ;  and  I  know  you  will  appreciate  the  intellec- 
tual advantages  that  such  contact  must  afford  me ;  at  the 
same  time  you  will  understand  that  I  can  hardly  enter 
such  circles  as  a  snob,  and  you  will  wish  your  son  to  com- 
port himself  as  a  gentleman ;  but  gentlemanizing  comes 
uncommon  dear,  I  can  tell  you,  with  all  the  care  in  the 
world :  and  if  you  could  let  me  have  another  couple  of 
liundred,  I  should  vote  you'  —  a  what,  Simon? — *an  out- 
and-out  brick' is  the  sensible  style,  but  I  suppose 'the 
best  and  kindest  of  parents'  is  the  filial  dodge,  eh? 
There !  '  With  fond  love  to  mamma  and  Florie,  ever 
your  affectionate  son,  Cosmo  Grandison.'  Bravo !  that's 
prime;  that'll  bring  the  yellows  down,  I  take  it.  Here, 
old  fellow,  copy  it  to  your  governor ;  you  could  n't  have 


52  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

a  more  stunning  effusion  —  short,  and  to  the  purpose,  as 
cabinet  councils  ought  to  be,  and  ain't.  Fire  away,  my 
juvenile." 

I  did  fire  away ;  only  I,  of  a  more  impressionable  and 
poetic  nature  than  Little  Grand,  gave  a  certain  vent  to 
my  feelings  in  expatiating  on  the  beauty,  grace,  conde- 
scension, &c.,  &c.,  of  the  Marchioness  to  my  mother;  I 
did  not  mention  the  grivois  stories,  the  brandy,  and  the 
liookah  :  I  was  quite  sure  they  were  the  sign  of  that  deli- 
cious ease  and  disregard  of  snobbish  etiquette  and  con- 
venances peculiar  to  the  "Upper  Ten,"  but  I  thought  the 
poor  people  at  home,  in  vicarage  seclusion,  would  be  too 
out  of  the  world  to  fully  appreciate  such  revelations  of 
our  crevie  de  la  creme ;  besides,  my  governor  had  James's 
own  detestation  of  the  divine  weed,  and  considered  that 
men  who  "made  chimneys  of  their  mouths"  might  just 
as  well  have  the  mark  of  the  Beast  at  once. 

Little  Grand  and  I  were  hard-up  for  cash,  and  e7i  at- 
tendant the  governors'  replies  and  remittances,  we  had 
recourse  to  the  tender  mercies  and  leather  bags  of  napo- 
leons, ducats,  florins,  and  doubloons  of  a  certain  Spanish 
Jew,  one  Balthazar  Miraflores,  a  shrivelled-skinned, 
weezing  old  cove,  who  was  "  most  happy  to  lent  anytink 
to  his  tear  young  shentlesmen,  but,  by  Got !  he  was  as 
poor  as  Job,  he  was  indeed ! "  Whether  Job  ever  lent 
money  out  on  interest  or  not,  I  can't  say  ;  perhaps  he  did, 
as  in  the  finish  he  ended  with  having  quadrupled  his 
cattle  and  lands,  and  all  his  goods — a  knack  usurers 
preserve  in  full  force  to  this  day ;  but  all  I  can  say  is, 
that  if  he  was  not  poorer  than  Mr.  Miraflores,  he  was  not 
much  to  be  pitied,  for  he,  miserly  old  shark,  lived  in  his 
dark,  dirty  hole,  like  a  crocodile  embedded  in  Nile  mud, 
and  crushed  the  bones  of  all  unwary  adventurers  who 
came  within  range  of  his  great  bristling  jaws. 

Money,  howeve",  Little  Grand  and  I  got  out  of  him  in 
plenty,  only  for  a  little  bit  of  pajjer  in  exchange;  and  at 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  53 

that  time  we  didn't  know  that  though  the  paper  tax 
would  be  repealed  at  last,  there  would  remain,  as  long  aa 
youths  are  green  and  old  birds  cunning,  a  heavy  and  a 
bitter  tax  on  certain  bits  of  paper  to  which  one's  hand  is 
put,  which  INIr.  Gladstone,  though  he  achieve  the  hercu- 
lean task  of  making  draymen  take  kindly  to  vin  ordi- 
naire, and  the  popping  of  champagne  corks  a  familiar 
sound  by  cottage-hearths,  will  never  be  able  to  include  in 
his  budgets,  to  come  among  the  Taxes  that  are  Repealed  ! 

Well,  we  had  our  money  from  old  Balthazar  that 
morning,  and  we  played  with  it  again  that  night  up  at 
the  Casa  di  Fiori.  Loo  this  time,  by  way  of  change. 
Saint-Jeu  said  he  always  thought  it  well  to  change  your 
game  as  you  change  your  loves :  constancy,  whether  to 
cards  or  women,  was  most  fatiguing.  We  liked  Saint-Jeu 
very  much,  we  thought  him  such  a  funny  fellow.  They 
said  they  did  not  care  to  play  much  —  of  course  they 
did  n't,  when  Guatamara  had  had  ecarte  with  the  Grand- 
Duke  of  Chaffsandlarksteiu  at  half  a  million  a  side,  and 
Lord  Dolph  had  broken  the  bank  at  Homburg  "just  for 
fun — no  fun  to  old  Blanc,  who  farms  it,  though,  you 
know."  But  the  Marchioness,  who  was  doubly  gracious 
that  night,  told  them  they  must  play,  because  it  amused 
her  chers  petlts  amis.  Besides,  she  said,  in  her  pretty, 
imperious  way,  she  liked  to  see  it  —  it  amused  her.  After 
that,  of  course,  there  Avas  no  more  hesitation ;  down  we 
eat,  and  young  Heavystone  with  us. 

The  evening  before  w«  had  happened  to  mention  him, 
said  he  was  a  fellow  of  no  end  of  tin,  though  as  stupid  an 
owl  as  ever  spelt  his  own  name  wrong  when  he  passed  a 
military  examination,  and  the  Marchioness,  recalling  the 
namo,  said  she  remembered  his  father,  and  asked  us  to 
bring  him  to  see  her ;  which  we  did,  fearing  no  rival  in 
"  old  Heavy." 

So  down  we  three  sat,  and  had  the  evening  before  over 
again,  with  the  cards,  and  the  smiles,  and  wiles  of  our 

5* 


54  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

divinity,  and  Saint-Jeu's  stories  and  Fitzhervey's  cognac 
and  cigars ;  with  this  difference,  that  we  found  loo  more 
exciting  than  vingt-et-un.  They  played  it  so  fast,  too,  it 
was  like  a  breathless  heat  for  the  Goodwood  Cup,  and  the 
Marchioness  watched  it,  leaning  alternately  over  Grand's, 
and  Heavy's,  and  my  chair,  and  saying,  with  such  naive 
delight,  "  Oh,  do  take  miss,  Cosmo ;  I  would  risk  it  if  I 
w^ere  you,  Mr.  Heavystone ;  pray  don't  let  my  naughty 
brother  win  everything,"  that  I  'd  have  defied  the  stiffest 
of  the  Stagyrites  or  the  chilliest  of  Calvinists  to  have 
kept  their  head  cool  with  that  syren  voice  in  their  ear. 

And  La  Lucrezia  sat,  as  she  had  sat  the  night  before, 
by  the  open  window,  still  and  silent,  the  Cape  jasmines 
and  Southern  creepers  framing  her  in  a  soft  moonlight 
picture,  contrast  enough  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  room, 
echoing  with  laughter  at  Saint-Jeu's  stories,  perfumed 
with  Cubas  and  narghiles,  and  shrining  the  magnificent, 
full-blown,  jewelled  beauty  of  our  Marchioness  St.  Julian, 
with  which  we  were  as  rapidly,  as  madly,  as  unreason- 
ingly,  and  as  sentimentally  in  love  as  any  boys  of  seven- 
teen or  eighteen  ever  could  be.  What  greater  latitude, 
you  will  exclaim,  recalling  certain  buried-away  episodes 
of  your  hobbedehoyism,  when  you  addressed  Latin  dis- 
tichs  to  that  hazel-eyed  Hebe  who  presided  over  oyster 
patties  and  water  ices  at  the  pastrycook's  in  Eton ;  or 
ruined  your  governor's  young  plantations  cutting  the 
name  of  Adeliza  Mary,  your  cousin,  at  this  day  a  portly 
person  in  velvet  and  point,  whom  you  can  now  call,  with 
a  thanksgiving  in  the  stead  of  the  olden  tremor,  Mrs. 
Hector  M'Cutchin  ?  Yes,  we  were  in  love  in  a  couple  of 
evenings.  Little  Grand  vehemently  and  unpoetically,  I 
shyly  and  sentimentally,  according  to  our  temperaments, 
and  as  the  fair  Emily  stirred  feud  between  the  two  Noble 
Kinsmen,  so  the  Marchioness  St.  Julian  began  to  sow 
seeds  of  jealousy  and  detestation  between  us,  sworn  allies 
as  we  were.     But  "  le  veritable  aniant  ne  connait  point 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  55 

d^amis,"  and  as  soon  as  Ave  began  to  grow  jealous  of  each 
other,  Little  Grand  could  have  kicked  me  to  the  devil, 
and  I  could  have  kicked  him  with  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  life. 

But  I  was  shy,  Little  Grand  was  blessed  with  all  the 
audacity  imaginable ;  the  consequence  was,  that  when  our 
horses  came  round,  and  the  Maltese  who  acted  as  cherub 
was  going  to  close  the  gates  of  Paradise  upon  us,  he  man- 
aged to  slip  into  the  Marchioness's  boudoir  to  get  a  tete- 
a-tete  farewell,  while  I  strode  uj)  and  down  the  veranda, 
not  heeding  Saint-Jeu,  who  was  telling  me  a  tale,  to 
which,  in  any  other  saner  moments,  I  should  have  lis- 
tened greedily,  but  longing  to  execute  on  Little  Grand 
some  fierce  and  terrible  vengeance,  to  which  the  vendetta 
should  be  baby's  play.  Saint-Jeu  left  me  to  put  his  arm 
over  Heavy's  shoulder,  and  tell  him  if  ever  he  came  to 
Paris  he  should  be  transported  to  receive  him  at  the 
Hotel  de  Millefleurs,  and  present  him  at  the  Tuileries ; 
and  I  stood  swearing  to  myself,  and  breaking  off  sprays 
of  the  veranda  creepers,  when  I  heard  somebody  say, 
very  softly  and  low,  — 

"  Signore,  come  here  a  moment." 

It  was  that  sweetly  pretty  mute  whom  we  had  barely 
noticed,  absorbed  as  we  were  in  the  worship  of  our  ma- 
turer  idol,  leaning  out  of  the  window,  her  cheeks  flushed, 
her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  sad  and  anxious.  Of  course  I 
went  to  her,  surprised  at  her  waking  up  so  suddenly  to 
any  interest  in  me.  She  put  her  hand  on  my  coat-sleeve, 
and  drew  me  down  towards  her. 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment.  I  hardly  know  how  to  Avarn 
you,  and  yet  I  must.  I  cannot  sit  quietly  by  and  see  you 
and  your  young  friends  being  deceived  as  so  many  have 
been  before  you.    Do  not  come  here  again  —  do  not " 

"  Figlia  mia!  are  you  not  afraid  of  the  night-air?" 
Baid  the  Prince  of  Orangia  Magnolia,  just  behind  us. 

His  words  were  kind,  but  there  was  a  nasty  glitter  in 


56  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCniONESS. 

his  eyes.  Lucrezia  answered  him  in  passionate  Italian 
— of  which  I  had  no  knowledge — with  such  fire  in  her 
eyes,  such  haughty  gesticulation,  and  such  a  torrent  of 
words,  that  I  really  began  to  think,  pretty  soft  little  dear 
as  she  looked,  that  she  must  positively  be  a  trifle  out  of 
her  mind,  her  silence  before,  and  her  queer  speech  to  me, 
seemed  such  odd  behavior  for  a  young  lady  in  such  high 
society.  She  was  turning  to  me  again  when  Little  Grand 
came  out  into  the  veranda,  looking  flushed,  proud,  and 
self-complaisant,  as  such  a  winner  and  slayer  of  women 
would  do.  My  hand  clenched  on  the  jasmine,  I  thirsted 
to  spring  on  him  as  he  stood  there  with  his  provoking, 
self-contented  smile,  and  his  confounded  coxcombical  air, 
and  his  cursed  fair  curls — my  hair  was  dust-colored  and 
as  rebellious  as  porcupine-quills  —  and  wash  out  in  his 

blood  or  mine A  touch  of  a  soft  hand  thrilled  through 

my  every  nerve  and  fibre :  the  Marchioness  was  there, 
and  signed  me  to  her,  Lucrezia,  Little  Grand,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  universe  vanished  from  my  mind  at  the 
lightning  of  that  angel  smile  and  the  rustle  of  that 
moire-antique  dress.  She  beckoned  me  to  her  into  the 
empty  drawing-room. 

"Augustus"  (I  never  thought  my  name  could  sound  so 
Bweet  before),  "  tell  me,  what  was  my  niece  Lucrezia  say- 
ing to  you  just  now?" 

Now  I  had  a  sad  habit  of  telling  the  truth  ;  it  was  au 
out-of-the-world  custom  taught  me,  among  other  old- 
fashioned  things,  at  home,  though  I  soon  found  how  in- 
convenient a  betise  modern  society  considers  it;  and  I 
blurted  the  truth  out  here,  not  distinctly  or  gracefully, 
though,  as  Little  Grand  would  have  done,  for  I  w*as  in 
that  state  of  exaltation  ordinarily  expressed  as  not  know- 
ing whether  one  is  standing  in  one's  Wellingtons  or  not. 

The  Marchioness  sighed. 

"Ah,  did  she  say  that?  Poor  dear  girl !  She  dislikes 
me  so  much,  it  is  quite  an  hallucination,  and  yet,  O 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  57 

Augustus,  I  hnve  been  to  her  like  an  elder  sister,  like  a 
mother.  Imagine  how  it  grieves  me,"  and  the  Marchion- 
ess shed  some  tears  —  pearls  of  price,  thought  I,  woi'thy 
to  drop  from  angel  eyes  —  "it  is  a  bitter  sorrow  to  me, 
but,  poor  darling !  she  is  not  responsible." 

She  touched  her  veiny  temple  significantly  as  she  spcke, 
and  I  understood,  and  felt  tremendously  shocked  at  it, 
that  the  young,  fair  Italian  girl  was  a  fierce  and  cruel 
maniac,  who  had  the  heart  (oh  !  most  extraordinary  mad- 
ness did  it  seem  to  me ;  if  /  had  lost  my  senses  I  could 
never  have  harmed  her !)  to  hate,  absolutely  hate,  the 
noblest,  tenderest,  most  beautiful  of  Avomen ! 

"  I  never  alluded  to  it  to  any  one,"  continued  the  Mar- 
chioness. "  Guatamara  and  Saint-Jeu,  though  such  inti- 
mate friends,  are  ignorant  of  it.  I  would  rather  have 
any  one  think  ever  so  badly  of  me,  than  reveal  to  them 
the  cruel  misfortune  of  my  sweet  Lucrezia ■ 

How  noble  she  looked  as  she  spoke ! 

"  But  you,  Augustus,  you,"  and  she  smiled  upon  me  till 
I  grew  as  dizzy  as  after  my  first  taste  of  milk-punch,  "  I 
have  not  the  courage  to  let  yoiL  go  ofi*  with  any  bad  im- 
pression of  me.  I  have  known  you  a  very  little  while,  it 
is  true — but  a  few  hours,  indeed — yet  there  are  affinities 
of  heart  and  soul  which  overstep  the  bounds  of  time,  and, 
laughing  at  the  chill  ties  of  ordinary  custom,  make  stran- 
gers dearer  than  old  friends " 

The  room  revolved  round  me,  the  lights  danced  up  and 
down,  my  heart  beat  like  Thor's  hammer,  and  my  pulse 
went  as  fast  as  a  favorite  saving  the  distance.  She  speak- 
ing so  to  me !  My  senses  whirled  round  and  round  like 
fifty  tLousand  witches  on  a  Walpurgis  Night,  and  down 
I  went  on  my  knees  before  my  magnificent  idol,  raving 
away  I  could  n't  tell  you  what  now — the  essence  of 
everything  I'd  everread,  from  Ovid  to  Alexander  Smith. 
It  must  have  been  something  frightful  to  hear,  though 
Heaven  knows  I  meant  it  earnestly  enough.     Suddenly  I 


68  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

wa5  pulled  up  with  a  jerk,  as  one  throws  an  unbroken  colt 
back  on  his  haunches  in  the  middle  of  his  first  start.  1 
thought  I  heard  a  laugh. 

She  started  up  too.  "  Hush !  another  time !  AVe  may 
be  overheard."  And  drawing  her  dress  from  my  hands, 
which  grasped  it  as  agonizingly  as  a  cockney  grasps  his 
eaddle-bow,  holding  on  for  dear  life  over  the  Burton  or 
Ted  worth  country,  she  stooped  kindly  over  me,  and 
floated  away  before  /  was  recovered  from  the  exquisite 
delirium  of  my  ecstatic  trance. 

She  loved  me !  This  superb  creature  loved  me !  There 
was  not  a  doubt  of  it ;  and  how  I  got  back  to  the  bar- 
racks that  night  in  my  heavenly  state  of  mind  I  could 
never  have  told.  All  I  know  is,  that  Grand  and  I  never 
spoke  a  word,  by  tacit  consent,  all  the  way  back;  that  I 
felt  a  fiendish  delight  when  I  saw  his  proud  triumphant 

air,  and  thought  how  little  he  guessed,  poor  fellow ! 

And  that  Dream  of  One  Fair  Woman  was  as  superior 
in  rapture  to  the  "  Dream  of  Fair  Women  "  as  Tokay  to 
the  "Fine  Fruity  Port"  that  results  from  damsons  and  a 
decoction  of  sloes ! 

The  next  day  there  was  a  grand  affair  in  Malta  to  re- 
ceive some  foreign  Prince,  whose  name  I  do  not  remem- 
ber now,  who  called  on  us  en  route  to  England  Of 
course  all  the  troops  turned  out,  and  there  was  an  inspec- 
tion of  us,  and  a  grand  luncheon  and  dinner,  and  ball, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  which  a  month  before  I  should 
have  considered  prime  fun,  but  which  now,  as  it  kept  me 
out  of  my  paradise,  I  thought  the  most  miserable  bore 
that  could  possibly  have  chanced. 

"I  say,"  said  Heavy  to  me  as  I  was  getting  into  harness 
— "I  say,  don't  you  wonder  Fitzhervey  and  the  Mar- 
chioness ain't  coming  to  the  palace  to-day  ?  One  would 
have  thought  Old  Stai's  and  Garters  would  have  been 
sure  to  ask  them." 

"Ask  them?  I  should  say  so,"  I  returned,  with  im- 


LITTLE    UllAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  59 

measurable  disdain.  "Of  course  he  asked  them  ;  but  she 
told  me  she  should  n't  come,  last  night.  She  is  so  tired 
of  such  things.  She  came  yachting  with  Fitzhervey 
solely  to  try  and  have  a  little  quiet.  She  says  people 
never  give  her  a  moment's  rest  when  she  is  in  Paris  or 
London.  She  was  sorry  to  disappoint  Stars  and  Garters, 
but  I  don't  think  she  likes  his  Avife  much :  she  don't  con- 
sider her  good  ton." 

On  which  information  Heavy  lapsed  into  a  state  of  pro- 
foundest  awe  and  Avonderment,  it  having  been  one  of  his 
articles  of  faith,  for  the  month  that  we  had  been  in  Malta, 
that  the  palace  people  were  exalted  demigods,  whom  it 
was  only  permissible  to  worship  from  a  distance,  and  a 
very  respectful  distance  too.  Heavy  had  lost  some  twenty 
odd  pounds  the  night  before — of  course  we  lost,  young 
hands  as  we  were,  unaccvistomed  to  the  society  of  that 
entertaining  gentleman,  Pam — and  had  grumbled  not  a 
little  at  the  loss  of  his  gold  bobs.  But  now  I  could  see 
that  such  a  contemptibly  pecuniary  matter  was  clean 
gone  from  his  memory,  and  that  he  would  have  thought 
the  world  well  lost  for  the  honor  of  playing  cards  with 
people  who  could  afford  to  disappoint  Old  Stars  and 
Garters. 

The  inspection  was  over  at  last ;  and  if  any  other  than 
Conran  had  been  ray  senior  officer,  I  should  have  come 
off  badly,  in  all  probability,  for  the  abominable  manner 
in  which  I  went  through  my  evolutions.  The  day  came 
to  an  end  somehow  or  other,  though  I  began  to  think  it 
never  would,  the  luncheon  was  ended,  the  bigwigs  were 
taking  their  sieste,  or  otherwise  occupied,  and  I,  trusting 
to  my  absence  not  being  noticed,  tore  ofl'  as  hard  as  man 
can  who  has  Cupid  for  his  Pegasus.  With  a  bouquet  as 
large  as  a  drum-head,  clasped  round  with  a  bracelet, 
about  which  I  had  many  doubts  as  to  the  propriety  of 
offering  to  the  possessor  of  such  jewelry  as  the  Marchion- 
ess must  have,  yet  on  which  I  thought  I  might  venture  after 


6U  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

the  scone  of  last  night,  I  was  soon  on  the  veranda  of  the 
Casa  di  Fiori,  and  my  natural  shyness  being  stimulated 
into  a  distant  resemblance  of  Little  Grand's  enviable 
brass,  seeing  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room  open,  I 
pushed  aside  the  green  Venetians  and  entered  noiselessly. 
The  room  did  not  look  a  quarter  so  inviting  as  the  night 
before,  though  it  was  left  in  precisely  a  similar  state.  I 
do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  those  cards  lying  about  on 
the  floor,  those  sconces  with  the  wax  run  down  and  drip- 
ping over  them,  those  emptied  caraffes  that  had  diffused  an 
odor  not  yet  dissipated,  those  tables  and  velvet  couches 
all  d  tort  et  d  travers,  did  not  look  so  very  inviting  after 
all,  and  even  to  my  unsophisticated  senses,  scarcely 
seemed  fit  for  a  Peeress. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  room,  and  I  walked  through 
it  towards  the  boudoir ;  from  the  open  door  I  saw  Fitz- 
hervey,  Guatamara,  and  my  Marchioness — but  oh  !  what 
horror  unutterable!  doing — que  pensez-vous?  Drinking 
bottled  porter!  —  and  drinking  bottled  porter  in  upeir/noir 
not  of  the  cleanliest,  and  with  raven  tresses  not  of  the 
neatest ! 

Only  fancy!  she,  that  divine,  spirituelle  creature,  who 
had  talked  but  a  few  hours  before  of  the  affinity  of  souls, 
to  have  come  down,  like  any  ordinary  woman,  to  Guin- 
ness's  stout,  and  a  checked  dressing-gown  and  unbrushed 
locks !  To  find  your  prophet  without  his  silver  veil,  or 
your  Leila  dead  drowned  in  a  sack,  or  your  Guinevere 
flown  over  with  Sir  Lancelot  to  Boulogne,  or  your  long- 
esteemed  Griselda  gone  off  with  your  cockaded  Jeames, 
is  nothing  to  the  torture,  the  unutterable  anguish,  of  see- 
ing your  angel,  your  divinity,  your  bright  particular  star, 
your  halloAved  Arabian  rose,  come  down  to  —  Bottled 
Porter !  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  Dore,  sir,  or  Mr.  Martin's 
pictures ;  their  horrors  dwindle  into  insignificance  com- 
pared with  the  horror  of  finding  an  intimate  liaison  be- 
tween one's  first  love  and  Bottled  Porter! 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  61 

In  my  first  dim,  unutterable  anguish,  I  should  have 
turned  and  fled  ;  but  my  syren's  voice  liad  not  lost  all  its 
power,  despite  the  stout  and  dirty  dressing-gown,  for 
she  was  a  very  handsome  woman,  and  could  stand  such 
things  as  well  as  anybody.  She  came  towards  me,  with 
her  softest  smile,  glancing  at  the  bracelet  on  the  bou  juet, 
apologizing  slightly  for  her  neglige:  —  "I  am  so  indolent. 
I  only  dress  for  those  I  care  to  please — and  I  never  hoped 
to  see  you  to-day."  In  short,  magnetizing  me  over  again, 
and  smoothing  down  my  outraged  sensibilities,  till  1 
ended  by  becoming  almost  blind  (quite  I  could  not  man- 
age) to  the  checked  robe  de  chavibre  and  the  unbrushed 
bandeaux,  by  offering  her  my  braceleted  bouquet,  which 
was  very  graciously  accepted,  and  even  by  sharing  the 
atrocious  London  porter,  "that  horrid  stuff,"  she  called 
it,  "how  I  hate  it!  bat  it  is  the  only  thing  Sir  Benjamin 
Brodie  allows  me,  I  am  so  very  delicate,  you  know,  jny 
sensibilities  so  frightfully  acute!" 

I  had  not  twenty  minutes  to  stay,  having  to  be  back  at 
the  barracks,  or  risk  a  reprimand,  which,  happily,  the 
checked  peignoir  had  cooled  me  sufficiently  to  enable  me 
to  recollect.  So  I  took  my  farewell  —  one  not  unlike 
Medora's  and  Conrad's,  Fitzhervey  and  Guatamara  hav- 
ing kindly,  withdrawn  as  soon  as  the  bottled  porter  was 
finished  —  and  I  went  out  of  the  house  in  a  very  blissful 
state,  despite  Guinness  and  the  unwelcome  demi-toilette, 
which  did  not  accord  with  F.ugene  Sue's  and  the  Pailor 
Library's  description  of  the  general  getting-up  and  stun- 
ning appearance  of  heroines  and  peeresses,  "  reclining,  in 
robes  of  cloud-like  tissue  and  folds  of  the  richest  lace,  on 
a  cabriole  couch  of  amber  velvet,  while  the  air  was 
filled  with  the  voluptuous  perfume  of  the  flower-children 
of  the  South,  and  music  from  unseen  choristers  lulled  the 
senses  with  its  divinest  harmony,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Bottled  porter  and  a  checked  dressing-gown !  Say 
what  you  like,  sirs,  it  takes  a  veiy  strong  passion  to  over- 


f)2  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

come  those.  I  have  heard  men  ascribe  the  waning  of  their 
affections  after  the  honeymoon  to  the  constant  sight  of 
their  wives — whom  before  they  had  only  seen  making 
papa's  coffee  with  an  angelic  air  and  a  toilette  tiree  d 
quatre  epingles — everlastingly  coming  down  too  late  for 
breakfast  in  a  dressing-gown ;  and,  upon  my  soul,  if  ever 
T  marry,  which  Heaven  in  pitiful  mercy  forfend !  and  my 
wife  make  her  appearance  in  one  of  those  confounded 
peignoirs,  I  will  give  that  much-run-after  and  deeply-to- 
be-pitied  public  character,  the  Divorce  Judge,  some  more 
work  to  do  —  I  will,  upon  my  honor. 

However,  the  peignoir  had  not  iced  me  enough  that 
time  to  prevent  my  tumbling  out  of  the  house  in  as  deli- 
cious an  ecstasy  as  if  I  had  been  eating  some  of  Monte 
Cristo's  "  hatchis."  As  I  went  out,  not  looking  before 
me,  I  came  bang  against  the  chest  of  somebody  else,  who, 
not  admiring  the  rencontre,  hit  my  cap  over  my  eyes,  and 
exclaimed,  in  not  the  most  courtly  manner  you  will  ac- 
knowledge, "  You  cursed  owl,  take  that,  then !  What 
are  you  doing  here,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"  Confound  your  impudence ! "  I  retorted,  as  soon  as 
my  ocular  powers  were  restored,  and  I  saw  the  blue  eyes, 
fair  curls,  and  smart  figure  of  my  ancient  lolaiis,  now  my 
bitterest  foe — "confound  your  impertinence!  what  are 
you  doing  here  ?  you  mean." 

"  Take  care,  and  don't  ask  questions  about  what  doesn't 
concern  you,"  returned  Little  Grand,  with  a  laugh  —  a 
most  irritating  laugh.  There  are  times  Avhen  such  cachin- 
nations  sting  one's  ears  more  than  a  volley  of  oaths. 
"  Go  home  and  mind  your  own  business,  my  chicken. 
You  are  a  green  bird,  and  nobody  minds  you,  but  still 
you  '11  find  it  as  well  not  to  come  j^oaching  on  other  men's 
manors." 

"  Other  men's  manors !  Mine,  if  you  please,"  I  shouted, 
so  mad  with  him  I  could  have  floored  him  where  he  stood. 

"Phew!"  laughed  Little  Grand,  screwing  up  his  lips 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  63 

into  a  contemptuous  whistle,  *  you  've  been  drinking  too 
much  Bass,  my  daisy;  'tis  n't  good  for  young  heads — 
can't  stand  it.     Go  home,  innocent." 

The  insult,  the  disdainful  tone,  froze  my  blood.  My 
heart  swelled  with  a  sense  of  outraged  dignity  and  injured 
manhood.  With  a  conviction  of  my  immeasurable  supe- 
riority of  position,  as  the  beloved  of  that  divine  creature, 
I  emancipated  myself  from  the  certain  sort  of  slavery  ] 
was  generally  in  to  Little  Grand,  and  spoke  as  I  con- 
ceived it  to  be  the  habit  of  gentlemen  whose  honor  had 
been  wounded  to  speak. 

"  Mr.  Grandison,  you  Avill  pay  for  this  insult.  I  shall 
expect  satisfaction." 

Little  Grand  laughed  again — absolutely  grinned,  the 
audacious  young  imp — and  he  twelve  months  younger 
than  I,  too ! 

"  Certainly,  sir.  If  you  wish  to  be  made  a  target  of,  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  oblige  you.  I  can't  keep  ladies 
waiting.  It  is  always  Place  aux  dames !  with  me ;  so,  for 
the  present,  good  morning ! " 

And  off  went  the  young  coxcomb  into  the  Casa  di 
Fieri,  and  I,  only  consoled  by  the  reflection  of  the  dif- 
ferent reception  he  would  n.ceive  to  what  mine  had  been 
(Jie  had  a  braceleted  bouquet,  too,  the  young  pretentious 
puppy ! ),  started  off  again,  assuaging  my  lacerated  feel- 
ings with  the  delicious  word  of  Satisfaction.  I  felt  my- 
self immeasurably  raised  above  the  heads  of  every  other 
man  in  Malta — a  perfect  hero  of  romance  ;  in  fact,  fit  tc 
figure  in  my  beloved  Alexandre's  most  highly-wrought 
yellow-papered  roman,  with  a  duel  on  my  hands,  and  the 
love  of  a  magnificent  creature  like  my  Eudoxia  Adelaida. 
She  had  become  Eudoxia  Adelaida  to  me  now,  and  I  had 
forgiven,  if  not  forgotten,  the  dirty  dressing-gown :  the 
bottled  porter  lay,  of  course,  at  Brodie's  door.  If  he 
would  condemn  spiritual  forms  of  life  and  light  to  the 
common  realistic  aliments  of  horrible  barmaids  and  dray- 


€4  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

men,  she  could  not  help  it,  nor  I  either.  If  angels  coma 
down  to  earth,  and  are  separated  from  their  natural  nour- 
ishment of  manna  and  nectar,  they  must  take  what  they 
can  get,  even  though  it  be  so  coarse  and  sublunary  a 
thing  as  Guinness's  XXX,  must  they  not,  sir  ?  Yes,  I 
felt  very  exalte  with  my  affair  of  honor  and  my  affair  of 
the  heart.  Little  Grand  for  my  foe,  and  my  Marchioness 
for  a  love.  I  never  stopped  to  remember  that  I  might  be 
smashing  with  frightful  recklessness  the  Sixth  and  the 
Seventh  Commandments.  If  Little  Grand  got  shot,  he 
must  thank  himself;  he  should  not  have  insulted  me ; 
and  if  there  was  a  Marquis  St.  Julian,  why — I  pitied 
him,  poor  fellov/ !  that  was  all. 

Full  of  these  sublime  sensations — grown  at  least  three 
feet  in  my  varnished  boots — I  lounged  into  the  ball-room, 
feeling  supreme  pity  for  ensigns  who  were  chattering 
round  the  door,  admiring  those  poor,  pale  garrison  girls. 
They  had  not  a  duel  and  a  Marchioness ;  they  did  not 
know  what  beauty  meant — what  life  was! 

I  did  not  dance — I  Avas  above  that  sort  of  thing  now 
— there  was  not  a  woman  worth  the  trouble  in  the  room  ; 
and  about  the  second  waltz  I  saw  my  Avould-be  rival 
talking  to  Ruthven,  a  fellow  in  Ours.  Little  Grand  did 
not  look  glum  or  dispirited,  as  he  ought  to  have  done 
after  the  interview  he  must  have  had  ;  but  probably  that 
was  the  boy's  brass.  He  would  never  look  beaten  if  you 
had  hit  him  till  he  was  black  and  blue.  Presently  Ruth- 
ven came  up  to  me.  He  was  not  over-used  to  his  busi- 
ness, for  he  began  the  opening  chapter  in  rather  school- 
boy fashion. 

"  Hallo,  Gus  !  so  you  and  Little  Grand  have  been  fall- 
ing out.  Why  don't  you  settle  it  Avith  a  little  mill  ?  A 
vast  deal  better  than  pistols.  Duels  always  seem  to  me 
no  fun.     Two  men  stand  up  like  fools,  and " 

"  Mr.  Ruthven,"  said  I,  very  haughtily,  "  if  your  prin- 
cipal desires  to  apologize " 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  65 

"Apologize!     Bless  your  soul,  no !     But- 


Then,"  said  I,  cutting  him  uncommonly  short  indeed, 
"  you  can  have  no  necessity  to  address  yourself  to  me,  and 
I  beg  to  refer  you  to  my  friend  and  second,  Mr.  Heavy- 
Btone." 

Wherewith  I  bowed,  turned  on  ray  heel,  and  left  him. 

I  did  not  sleep  that  night,  though  I  tried  hard,  because 
I  thought  it  the  correct  thing  for  heroes  to  sleep  sweetly 
till  the  clock  strikes  the  hour  of  their  duel,  execution, 
&c.,  or  whatever  it  may  hap.  Egmont  slept,  Argyle 
slept,  Philippe  Egalite,  scores  of  them,  but  I  could  not. 
Not  that  I  funked  it,  thank  Heaven  —  I  never  had  a 
touch  of  that — but  because  I  was  in  such  a  delicious 
state  of  excitement,  self-admiration,  and  heroism,  which 
had  not  cooled  when  I  found  myself  walking  down  to  the 
appointed  place  by  the  beach  with  poor  old  Heavy,  who 
was  intensely  impressed  by  being  charged  with  about  five 
quires  of  the  best  cream-laid,  to  be  given  to  the  Mar- 
chioness in  case  I  fell.  Little  Grand  and  Ruthven  came 
on  the  ground  at  almost  the  same  moment.  Little  Grand 
eminently  jaunty  and  most  confoundedly  handsome.  Wo 
took  off  our  caps  with  distant  ceremony ;  the  Castilian 
hidalgos  were  never  more  stateiy  ;  but,  then,  what  Knights 
of  the  Round  Table  ever  splintered  spears  for  such  a 
woman  ? 

The  paces  were  measured,  the  pistols  taken  out  of  their 
case.  We  were  just  placed,  and  Ruthven,  with  a  hand- 
kerchief in  his  hand,  had  just  enumerated,  in  awful 
accents,  "One !  two ! "  —  the  "  three ! "  yet  hovered  on  his 
lips,  when  we  heard  a  laugh — the  th'rd  laugh  that  had 
chilled  iny  blood  in  twenty-four  hours.  Souiebody's  hand 
was  laid  on  Little  Grand's  shoulder,  and  C'0;u-;iu's  voice, 
interrupted  the  whole  thing, 

"  Hallo,  young  ones !  what  farce  is  this?" 

*•  Farce,  sir ! "  retorted  Little  Grand,  hotly — "Oireo? 
It  is  no  farce.     It  is  an  affair  of  houor,  and  —  —  " 
6*  E 


6G  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

"  Dou't  make  me  laugh,  my  clear  boy,"  smiled  Conran; 
"  it  is  so  much  too  warm  for  such  an  exertion.  Pray,  why 
are  you  and  your  once  sworn  friend  making  poj^injays  of 
each  other?" 

"  Mr.  Grandison  has  grossly  insulted  me,"  I  began, 
"  and  I  demand  satisfaction.  I  will  not  stir  from  the 
ground  Avithout  it,  and " 

"  You  sha'n't,"  shouted  Little  Grand.  "  Do  you  dare 
to  pretend  I  want  to  funk,  you  little  contemptible " 

Though  it  was  too  warm,  Conran  went  off  into  a  fit  of 
laughter. 

I  dare  say  our  sublimity  had  a  comic  touch  in  it  of 
which  we  never  dreamt.  "  My  dear  boys,  pray  don't,  it 
is  too  fatiguing.     Come,  Grand,  what  is  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  I  deny  your  right  to  question  me,  Major,"  retorted 
Little  Grand,  in  a  fury.  "  What  have  you  to  do  with  it? 
I  mean  to  punish  that  young  owl  yonder — who  didn't 
know  how  to  drink  anything  but  milk-and-water,  did  n't 
know  how  to  say  bo!  to  a  goose,  till  I  taught  him — for 
very  abominable  impertinence,  and  I  '11 " 

"  My  impertinence !  I  like  that ! "  I  shouted.  "  It  is 
your  unwarrantable,  overbearing  self-conceit,  that  makes 
you  the  laughing-stock  of  all  the  mess,  which " 

"Silence!"  said  Conran's  still  stern  voice,  which  sub- 
dued us  into  involuntary  respect.  "  No  more  of  this  non- 
sense !  Put  up  those  pistols,  Ruthven.  You  are  two  hot- 
headed, silly  boys,  who  don't  know  for  what  you  are  quar- 
relling. Live  a  few  years  longer,  and  you  won't  be  so 
eager  to  get  into  hot  water,  and  put  cartridges  into  your 
best  friends.  No,  I  shall  not  hear  any  more  about  it.  If 
you  do  not  instantly  give  me  your  words  of  honor  not  to 
attempt  to  repeat  this  folly,  as  your  senior  officer  I  shall 
put  you  under  arrest  for  six  weeks." 

O  Alexandre  Dumas!  —  O  Monte  Cristo! — O  heroes 
of  yellow  paper  and  pluck  invincible !  I  ask  pardon  of 
your  shades  ;  I  must  record  the  fact,  lowering  and  melan- 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCniONEBS,  6T 

choly  as  it  is,  that  before  our  senior  officer  our  heroism 
melted  like  Vanille  ice  in  the  sun,  our  glories  tumbled 
to  the  ground  like  twelfth-cake  ornaments  under  children's 
fingers,  and  before  the  threat  of  arrest  the  lions  lay  down 
like  lambs. 

Conran  sent  us  back,  humbled,  sulky,  and  crestfallen, 
and  resumed  his  solitary  patrol  upon  the  beach,  where,  be- 
fore the  sun  was  fairly  up,  he  was  having  a  shot  at  curlews. 
But  if  he  was  a  little  stern,  he  was  no  less  kind-hearted ; 
and  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  while  he  lay,  after  his 
siesta,  smoking  on  his  little  bed,  I  unburdened  myself  to 
him.  He  did  not  laugh  at  me,  though  I  saAV  a  quizzical 
smile  under  his  black  moustaches. 

"What  is  your  divinity's  name?"  he  asked,  when  I  had 
finished. 

"Eudoxia  Adelaida,  Marchioness  St.  Julian." 

"  The  Marchioness  St.  Julian  !     Oh ! " 

"Do  you  know  her?"  I  inquired,  somewhat  perplexed 
by  his  tone. 

He  smiled  straight  out  this  time. 

"  I  don't  know  her,  but  there  are  a  good  many  Peeresses 
in  Malta  and  Gibraltar,  and  along  the  line  of  the  Pacific, 
as  ray  brother  Ned,  in  the  Belisarius,  will  tell  you.  I 
could  count  two  score  such  of  my  acquaintance  off  at  this 
minute." 

I  wondered  what  he  meant.  I  dare  say  he  knew  all 
the  Peerage ;  but  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  me,  and  I 
thought  it  strange  that  all  the  Duchesses,  and  Countesses, 
and  Baronesses  should  quit  their  country-seats  and  town- 
houses  to  locate  themselves  along  the  line  of  the  Pacific. 

"  She  's  a  fine  woman,  St.  John  ?"  he  went  on. 

"Fine!"  I  reiterated,  bursting  into  a  panegyric,  with 
which  I  won't  bore  you  as  I  bored  him. 

"  Well,  you  're  going  there  to-night,  you  say  ;  take  me 
with  you,  and  we  '11  see  what  I  think  of  your  Marchioness." 

I  looked  at  his  fine  figure  and  features,  recalled  certain 


68  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

tales  of  his  conquests,  remembered  that  he  knew  French, 
Italian,  German,  and  Spanish,  but,  not  being  very  able  to 
refuse,  acquiesced  Avith  a  reluctance  I  could  not  entirely 
conceal.  Conran,  however,  did  not  perceive  it,  and  after 
mess  took  his  cap,  and  went  with  me  to  the  Casa  di  Fieri. 

The  rooms  were  all  right  again,  my  Marchioness  was 
eti  grande  tenue,  amber  silk,  black  lace,  diamonds,  and  all 
that  sort  of  style.  Fitzhervey  and  the  other  men  were  in 
evening  dress,  drinking  coffee ;  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
bottled  porter  anywhere,  and  it  was  all  very  brilliant  and 
presentable.  The  Marchioness  St.  Julian  rose  with  the 
warmest  effusion,  her  dazzling  white  teeth  showing  in  the 
sunniest  of  smiles,  and  both  hands  outstretched. 

"Augustus,  bien  aime,  you  are  rather " 

"  Late,"  I  suppose  she  was  going  to  say,  but  she  stopped 
dead  short,  her  teeth  remained  parted  in  a  stereotypei 
smile,  a  blankness  of  dismay  came  over  her  luminous  eyes. 
She  caught  sight  of  Conran,  and  I  imagined  I  heard  a  very 
low-breathed  "  Curse  the  fellow ! "  from  courteous  Lord 
Dolph.  Conran  came  forward,  however,  as  if  he  did  not 
notice  it ;  there  was  only  that  queer  smile  lurking  under 
his  moustaches.  I  introduced  him  to  them,  and  the 
Marchioness  smiled  again,  and  Fitzhervey  almost  resumed 
his  wonted  extreme  urbanity.  But  they  were  somehow  or 
other  wonderfully  ill  at  ease — wonderfully,  for  people  in 
such  high  society ;  and  I  was  ill  at  ease  too,  from  being 
only  able  to  attribute  Eudoxia  Adelaida's  evident  con- 
sternation at  the  sight  of  Conran  to  his  having  been  some 
time  or  other  an  old  love  of  hers.  "Ah!"  thought  I, 
grinding  my  teeth,  "  that  comes  of  loving  a  woman  older 
than  one's  self." 

The  Major,  however,  seemed  the  only  one  who  enjoyed 
himself.  The  Marchioness  was  beaming  on  him  graciously, 
though  her  ruffled  feathers  were  not  quite  smoothed  down, 
and  he  was  sitting  by  her  with  an  intense  amusement  in 
his  eyes,  alternately  talking  to  her  about  Stars  and  Gar- 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  69 

ters,  whom,  by  her  answers,  she  did  not  seem  to  know  so 
very  intimately  after  all,  and  chatting  with  Fitzhervey 
about  hunting,  who,  for  a  man  that  had  hunted  over  every 
country,  according  to  his  own  account,  seemed  to  confuse 
Tom  Edge  with  Tom  Smith,  the  Burton  with  the  Tedworth, 
a  bullfinch  with  an  ox-rail,  in  queer  style,  under  Conran's 
cross-questioning.  We  had  been  in  the  room  about  ten 
minutes,  when  a  voice,  rich,  low,  sweet,  rang  out  from 
some  inner  room,  singing  the  glorious  "  Inflammatus." 
How  strange  it  sounded  in  the  Casa  di  Fieri ! 

Conran  started,  the  dark  blood  rose  over  the  clear 
bronze  of  his  cheek.  He  turned  sharply  on  to  the  Mar- 
chioness.    "  Good  Heaven  !  whose  voice  is  that?" 

"  My  niece's,"  she  answered,  staring  at  him,  and  touch- 
ing a  hand-bell.  "  I  will  ask  her  to  come  and  sing  to  us 
nearer.     She  has  really  a  lovely  voice." 

Conran  grew  pale  again,  and  sat  watching  the  door  with 
the  most  extraordinary  anxiety.  Some  minutes  went  by ; 
then  Lucrezia  entered,  with  the  same  haughty  reserve 
which  her  soft  young  face  always  wore  when  with  her  aunt. 
It  changed,  though,  when  her  glance  fell  on  Conran,  into 
the  wildest  rapture  I  ever  saw  on  any  countenance.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  on  her  with  the  look  Little  Grand  says  he  *s 
seen  him  wear  in  a  battle — a  contemptuous  smile  quiver- 
ing on  his  face. 

"  Sing  us  something,  Lucrezia  dear,"  began  the  Mar- 
chioness. "  You  should  n't  be  like  the  nightingales,  and 
give  your  music  only  to  night  and  solitude." 

Lucrezia  seemed  not  to  hear  her.  She  had  never  taken 
her  eyes  off  Conran,  and  she  went,  as  dreamily  as  that 
dear  little  Amina  in  the  "  Sonnambula,"  to  her  seat  under 
the  jasmines  in  the  window.  For  a  few  minutes  Conran, 
who  did  n't  seem  to  care  two  straws  what  the  society  in 
general  thought  of  him,  took  his  leave,  to  the  relief,  ap- 
parently, of  Fitzhervey  and  Guatamara. 

As  he  went  across  the  veranda  —  that  memorable  ve- 


70  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCUIONESS. 

randa!  —  I  sitting  in  dudgeon  near  the  other  window, 
while  Fitzhervey  was  proposing  ecarte  to  Heavy,  whom 
we  had  found  there  on  our  entrance,  and  the  Marchioness 
had  vanished  into  her  boudoir  for  a  moment,  I  saw  tlie 
Roman  girl  spring  out  after  him,  and  catch  hold  of  his 
arm : 

"Victor!  Victor!  for  pity's  sake!  —  I  never  thought 
we  should  meet  like  this!" 

"Nor  did  I." 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  you  will  kill  me.  In  mercy,  say  some 
kinder  words ! " 

"  I  can  say  nothing  that  it  would  be  courteous  to  you 
to  say." 

I  could  n't  have  been  as  inflexible,  whatever  her  sins 
might  have  been,  with  her  hands  clasped  on  me,  and  her 
face  raised  so  close  to  mine.  Lucrezia's  voice  changed  to 
a  piteous  wail : 

"  You  love  me  no  longer,  then  ?" 

"Love!"  said  Conran,  fiercely — "love!  How  dare 
you  speak  to  me  of  love  ?  I  held  you  to  be  fond,  inno- 
cent, true  as  Heaven ;  as  such,  you  were  dearer  to  me  than 
life — as  dear  as  honor.  I  loved  you  with  as  deep  a  pas- 
sion as  ever  a  man  knew — Heaven  help  me!  I  love  you 
now  !  How  am  I  rewarded  ?  By  finding  you  the  com- 
panion of  blackguards,  the  associate  of  swindlers,  one  of 
the  arch-intrigantes  who  lead  on  youths  to  ruin  with  base 
smiles  and  devilish  arts.  Then  you  dare  talk  to  me  of 
love ! " 

With  those  passionate  words  he  threw  her  off  him.  She 
fell  at  his  feet  with  a  low  moan.  He  either  did  not  hear, 
or  did  not  heed  it ;  and  I,  bewildered  by  what  I  heard, 
mechanically  went  and  lifted  her  from  the  ground.  Lu« 
crezia  had  not  fainted,  but  she  looked  so  wild,  that  I  be- 
lieved the  Marchioness,  and  set  her  down  as  mad ;  but 
then  Conran  must  be  mad  as  well,- which  seemed  too  in- 
credible a  thing  for  me  to  swallow  —  our  cool  Major  mad  J 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  71 

"Where  does  he  live?"  asked  Lucrezia  of  me,  in  a 
Dreathless  whisper. 

"He?     Who?" 

"Victor  —  your  officer — Signer  Conran." 

"Why,  he  lives  in  Valetta,  of  course." 

"Can  I  find  him  there?" 

"  I  dare  say,  if  you  want  him. 

"Want  him!  Oh,  Santa  Maria!  is  not  his  absence 
death?     Can  I  find  him?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say.  Anybody  will  show  you  Con- 
ran's  rooms." 

"  Thank  you." 

With  that,  this  mysterious  young  lady  left  me,  and  I 
turned  in  through  the  window  again.  Heavy  and  the 
men  were  playing  at  lansquenet,  that  most  perilous,  rapid, 
and  bewitching  of  all  the  resistless  Card  Circes.  There 
was  no  Marchioness,  and  having  done  it  once  with  impu- 
nity, I  thought  I  might  do  it  again,  and  lifted  the  am- 
ber curtain  that  divided  the  boudoir  from  the  drawing- 
room.  What  did  I  behold  ?  Oh  !  torture  unexampled ! 
Oh!  fiendish  agony!  There  was  Little  Grand — self-con- 
ceited, insulting,  impertinent,  abominable,  unendurable 
Little  Grand — on  the  amber  satin  couch,  with  the  Mar- 
chioness leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  up 
in  his  thrice-confounded  face  with  her  most  adorable 
smile,  my  smile,  that  had  beamed,  and,  as  I  thought, 
beamed  only  upon  me  ! 

If  Mephistopheles  had  been  by  to  tempt  me,  I  would 
have  sold  my  soul  to  have  wreaked  vengeance  on  them 
both.  Neither  saw  me,  thank  Heaven !  and  I  had  self- 
possession  enough  not  to  give  them  the  cruel  triumph  of 
witnessing  my  anguish.  I  withdrew  in  silence,  dropped 
the  curtain,  and  rushed  to  bury  my  wrongs  and  sorrows 
in  the  friendly  bosom  of  the  gentle  night.  It  was  my  first 
love,  and  I  had  made  a  fool  of  myself.  TJie  two  are 
Byuonymous. 


72  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

How  I  reached  the  barracks  I  never  knew.     All  the 

night  long  I  sat  watching  the  stars  out,  raving  to  them 
of  Eudoxia  Adelaida,  and  cursing  in  plentiful  anathemas 
my  late  Orestes.  How  should  I  bear  his  impudent  grin 
every  mortal  night  of  my  life  across  the  mess-table?  I 
tore  up  into  shreds  about  a  ream  of  paper,  inscribed  with 
tender  sonnets  to  my  faithless  idol.  I  trampled  into  fifty 
thousand  shreds  a  rosette  ofi"  her  dress,  for  which,  fool-like, 
I  had  begged  the  day  before.  I  smashed  the  looking- 
glass,  which  could  only  show  me  the  image  of  a  pitiful 
donkey.  I  called  on  Heaven  to  redress  my  wrongs.  Oh  ! 
curse  it !  never  was  a  fellow  at  once  so  utterly  done  for 
and  so  utterly  done  brown ! 

And  in  the  vicarage,  as  I  learnt  afterwards,  when  my 
letter  was  received  at  home,  there  was  great  glorification 
and  pleasure.  My  mother  and  the  girls  were  enraptured 
at  the  high  society  darling  Gussy  was  moving  in  ;  "  but 
then,  you  know,  mamma,  dear  Gussy's  manners  are  so 
gentle,  so  gentleman-like,  they  are  sure  to  please  wherever 
he  goes!"  Wherewith  my  mother  cried,  and  dried  her 
eyes,  and  cried  again,  over  that  abominable  letter  copied 
from  Little  Grand's,  and  smelling  of  vilest  tobacco. 

Then  entered  a  rectoress  of  a  neighboring  parish,  to 
whom  my  mother  and  the  girls  related  with  innocent  ex- 
ultation of  my  grand  friends  at  Malta ;  how  Lord  A. 
Fitzhervey  was  my  sworn  ally,  and  the  Marchioness  St. 
Julian  had  quite  taken  me  under  her  wing.  And  the 
rectoress,  having  a  son  of  her  own,  who  was  not  doing 
anything  so  grand  at  Cambridge,  but  principally  sotting 
beer  at  a  Cherryhinton  public,  smiled  and  was  wrathful, 
and  said  to  her  lord  at  dinner: 

"My  dear,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  Marchioness  St 
Julian?" 

"No,  my  love,  I  believe  not— never." 

"  Is  there  one  in  the  peerage  ?  " 

"C£}-n't  say,  my  dear.     Look  in  Burke." 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  73 

So  the  rectoress  got  Burke  and  closed  it,  after  deliber- 
ate inspection,  with  malignant  satisfaction. 

"  I  thought  not.  How  ridiculous  those  St.  Johns  are 
about  that  ugly  boy  Augustus.  As  if  Tom  were  not 
worth  a  hundred  of  him ! " 

I  was  too  occupied  with  my  own  miseries  then  to  think 
about  Conran  and  Lucrezia,  though  some  time  after  I 
heard  all  about  it.  It  seems,  that,  a  year  before,  Conran 
was  on  leave  in  Rome,  and  at  Eome,  loitering  about  the 
Campagna  one  day,  he  made  a  chance  acquaintance  with 
an  Italian  girl,  by  getting  some  flowers  for  her  she  had 
tried  to  reach  and  could  not.  She  was  young,  enthusias- 
tic, intensely  interesting,  and  had  only  an  old  Roman 
nurse,  deaf  as  a  post  and  purblind,  with  her.  The  girl 
was  Lucrezia  da  Guari,  and  Lucrezia  was  lovely  as  one 
of  htr  own  myrtle  or  orange  flowers.  Somehow  or  other 
Conran  went  there  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  the 
next,  and  so  on  for  a  good  many  days,  and  always  found 
Lucrezia.  Now,  Conran  had  at  bottom  a  touch  of  un- 
stirred romance,  and,  moreover,  his  own  idea  of  what 
sort  of  woman  he  could  love.  Something  in  this  un- 
trained yet  winning  Campagna  flower  answered  to  both. 
He  was  old  enough  lo  trust  his  own  discernment,  and, 
after  a  month  or  two's  walks  and  talks,  Conran,  one  of 
the  proudest  men  going,  ofliered  himself  and  his  name  to 
a  Roman  girl  of  whom  he  knew  nothing,  except  that  she 
seemed  to  care  for  him  as  he  had  had  a  fancy  to  be  cared 
for  all  his  life.  It  was  a  deucedly  romantic  thing — how- 
ever, he  did  it!  Lucrezia  had  told  him  her  father  was  a 
military  officer,  but  somehow  or  other  this  father  never 
came  to  light,  and  when  he  called  at  their  house — or 
rather  rooms — Conran  always  found  him  out,  which  he 
thought  queer,  but,  on  the  whole,  rather  providential,  and 
he  set  the  accident  down  to  a  foreigner's  roaming  habits. 

The  day  Conran  had  really  gone  the  length  of  oflTering 
to  make  an  unknowji  Italian  his  wife,  he  went,  for  tho 
7 


74  LITTLE    GBAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

first  time  in  the  evening,  to  Da  Guari's  house.  The  ser- 
vant showed  him  in  unannounced  to  a  brightly-lighted 
chamber,  reeking  with  Avine  and  smoke,  where  a  dozen 
men  were  playing  ti'ente  et  quarante  at  an  amateur  bank, 
and  two  or  three  others  were  gathered  round  what  he  had 
believed  his  own  fair  and  pure  Campagna  flower.  He 
understood  it  all ;  he  turned  away  with  a  curse  upon  him. 
He  wanted  love  and  innocence ;  adventuresses  he  could 
have  by  the  score,  and  he  was  sick  to  death  of  them.  From 
that  hour  he  never  saw  her  again  till  he  met  her  at  the 
Casa  di  Fieri. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  Conran  while  he  was  break- 
fasting, and  unburdened  my  mind  to  him.  He  looked  ill 
and  haggard,  but  he  listened  to  me  very  kindly,  though  he 
spoke  of  the  people  at  the  Casa  di  Fieri  in  a  hard,  brief, 
curious  manner. 

"  Plenty  have  been  taken  in  like  you,  Gus,"  he  said 
"  I  was,  years  agOj  in  ray  youth,  when  I  joined  the  Army. 
There  are  scores  of  such  women,  as  I  told  you,  down  the 
line  of  the  Pacific,  and  about  here ;  anywhere,  in  fact, 
where  the  army  and  navy  give  them  fresh  pigeons  to  be 
gulled.  They  take  titles  that  sound  grand  in  boys'  ears, 
and  fascinate  them  till  they  've  won  all  their  money,  and 
then — send  them  to  the  dogs.  Your  Marchioness  St, 
Julian's  real  name  is  Sarah  Briggs." 

I  gave  an  involuntary  shriek.  Sarah  Briggs  finished 
me.  It  was  the  death-stroke,  that  could  never  be  got 
over. 

"  She  was  a  ballet-girl  in  London,"  continued  Conran ; 
"  then,  when  she  was  sixteen,  married  that  Fitzhervey, 
alias  Briggs,  alias  Smith,  alias  what  you  please,  and  set 
up  in  her  present  more  lucrative  employment  with  her 
three  or  four  confederates.  Saint- Jeu  was  expelled  from 
Paris  for  keeping  a  hell  in  the  Chauss(?e  d'Antin,  Fitz- 
hervey was  a  leg  at  Newmarket,  Orangia  Magnolia  a 
lawyer's  clerk,  who  was  had  up  for  forgery,  Guatamara  is 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  75 

—  by  another  name — a  scovindrel  of  Rome.  There  is 
the  history  of  your  Maltese  Peerage,  Gussy.  Well, 
you  'II  be  wider  awake  next  time.  Wait,  there  is  some- 
body at  my  door.  Stay  here  a  moment,  I  '11  come  back 
to  you." 

Accordingly,  I  stayed  in  his  bedroom,  where  I  had 
found  him  writing,  and  he  went  into  his  sitting-room,  of 
which,  from  the  diminutiveness  of  his  domicile,  I  com- 
manded a  full  view,  sit  where  I  would.  What  was  my 
astonishment  to  see  Lucrezia !  I  went  to  his  bedroom 
door ;  it  was  locked  from  the  outside,  so  I  perforce  re- 
mained where  I  was,  to,  nolens  volens,  witness  the  finish 
of  last  night's  interview. 

Stern  to  the  last  extent  and  deadly  pale,  Conran  stood, 
too  surprised  to  speak,  and  most  probably  at  a  loss  for 
words. 

Lucrezia  came  up  to  him  nevertlieless  with  the  aban- 
donment of  youth  and  southern  blood. 

"  Victor !  Victor !  let  me  speak  to  you.  You  shall 
listen ;  you  shall  not  judge  me  unheard." 

"  Signorina,  I  have  judged  you  by  only  too  ample 
evidence." 

He  had  recovered  himself  now,  and  was  as  cool  as 
needs  be. 

"  I  deny  it.     But  you  love  me  still  ?  " 

"Love  you?  More  shame  on  me!  A  laugh,  a  com- 
pliment, a  caress,  a  cashmere,  is  as  much  as  such  women 
as  you  are  worth.  Love  becomes  ridiculous  named  in 
the  same  breath  with  you." 

She  caught  hold  of  his  hand  and  crushed  it  in  both  her 
own. 

"Kill  me  if  you  will.  Death  would  have  no  sting 
from  your  hand,  but  never  speak  such  words  to  me." 

His  voice  trembled. 

"  How  can  I  choose  but  speak  them  ?  You  know  that 
I  believed  you  in  Italy,  and  how  on  that  belief  I  offered 


76  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

you  my  name — a  name  never  yet  stained,  never  yet  held 
unworthy.  I  lost  you,  to  find  you  in  society  which 
stamped  you  for  ever.  A  lovely  fiend,  holding  raw  boys 
enchained,  that  your  associates  might  rifle  their  purses 
with  marked  cards  and  cogged  dice.  I  hoped  to  have 
found  a  diamond,  without  spot  or  flaw.  I  discovered  my 
error  too  late ;  it  was  only  glass,  which  all  men  were  free 
to  pick  up  and  trample  on  at  their  pleasure." 

He  tried  to  wrench  his  hand  away,  but  she  would  not 
let  it  go. 

"  Hush !  hush  !  listen  to  me  first.  If  you  once  thought 
me  worthy  of  your  love,  you  may,  surely,  now  accord  me 
pity.  I  shall  not  trouble  you  long.  After  this,  you  need 
see  me  no  more.  I  am  going  back  to  my  old  convent. 
You  and  the  world  will  soon  forget  me,  but  I  shall  re- 
member you,  and  pray  for  you,  as  dearer  than  my  own 
soul." 

Conran's  head  was  bent  down  now,  and  his  voice  was 
thick,  as  he  answered  briefly, 

"Go  on." 

This  scene  half  consoled  me  for  Eudoxia  Adelaida  — 
(I  mean,  O  Heavens,  Sarah  Briggs!)  —  it  was  so  exquis- 
itely romantic,  and  Conran  and  Lucrezia  would  n't  have 
done  at  all  badly  for  Monte  Cristo  and  that  dear  little 
Haidee.     I  was  fearfully  poetic  in  those  days. 

"  When  I  met  you  in  Rome,"  Lucrezia  went  on,  in 
obedience  to  his  injunction,  "  two  years  ago,  you  remem-r 
ber  I  had  only  left  my  convent  and  lived  with  my  father 
but  a  month  or  two.  I  told  you  he  was  an  ofiicer.  I 
only  said  what  I  had  been  told,  and  I  knew  no  more  than 
you  that  he  was  the  keeper  of  a  gambling-house." 

She  shuddered  as  she  paused,  and  leaned  her  forehead 
on  Conran's  hand.  He  did  not  repulse  her,  and  she  con- 
tinued, in  her  broken,  simple  English  : 

"  The  evening  you  promised  me  what  I  should  have 
uecdetl  to  have  been  an  angel  to  be  worthy  of — your  love 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  77 

and  your  name — that  very  evening,  when  I  reached 
home,  my  father  bade  me  dress  for  a  soiree  he  was  going 
to  give.  I  obeyed  him,  of  course.  I  knew  nothing  but 
what  he  told  me,  and  I  w-ent  down,  to  find  a  dozen  young 
nobles  and  a  few  Englishmen  drinking  and  playing  on  a 
table  covered  with  green  cloth.  Some  few  of  them  came 
up  to  me,  but  I  felt  frightened ;  their  looks,  their  tones, 
their  florid  compliments,  were  so  different  to  yours.  But 
my  father  kept  his  eye  on  me,  and  would  not  let  me 
leave.  While  they  were  leaning  over  my  chair,  and 
whispering  in  my  ear,  you  came  to  the  door  of  the  salon, 
and  I  went  towards  you,  and  you  looked  cold,  and  harsh, 
as  I  had  never  seen  you  before,  and  put  me  aside,  and 
turned  away  Avithout  a  word.  Oh,  Victor !  why  did  you 
not  kill  me  then?  Death  would  have  been  kindness. 
Your  Othello  was  kinder  to  Desdemona ;  he  slew  her — 
he  did  not  leave  her.  From  that  hour  I  never  saw  you, 
and  from  that  hour  my  father  persecuted  me  because  I 
would  never  join  in  his  schemes,  nor  enter  his  vile  gaming- 
rooms.  Yet  I  have  lived  with  him,  because  I  could  not 
get  away.  I  have  been  too  carefully  watched.  We 
Italians  are  not  free,  like  your  happy  English  girls.  A 
few  weeks  ago  we  were  compelled  to  leave  Rome,  the 
young  Contino  di  Firenze  had  been  stilettoed  leaving  my 
father's  rooms,  and  he  could  stay  in  Italy  no  longer.  We 
came  here,  and  joined  that  hateful  woman,  who  calls  her- 
self Marchioness  St.  Julian ;  and,  because  she  could  not 
bend  me  to  her  will,  gives  out  that  I  am  her  niece,  and 
mad !  I  wonder  I  am  not  mad,  Victor.  I  wish  hearts 
would  break,  as  the  romancers  make  them  ;  but  how  long 
one  suffers  and  lives  ou !  Oh,  my  love,  my  soul,  my  life, 
only  say  that  you  believe  me,  and  look  kindly  at  me  once 
again,  then  I  will  never  trouble  you  again,  I  will  only 
pray  for  you.  But  believe  me,  Victor.  The  Mothei 
Superior  of  my  convent  will  tell  you  it  is  the  truth  that 
7* 


78  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    TOE    MARCHIONESS. 

I  speak.  Oh,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  believe  me !  Be- 
lieve me  or  I  shall  die ! " 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  man  to  resist  her ;  there 
was  truth  in  the  girl's  voice  and  face,  if  ever  truth  walked 
abroad  on  earth.  And  Conran  did  believe  her,  and  told 
her  so  in  a  few  unconnected  words,  lifting  her  up  in  his 
arms,  and  vowing,  with  most  unrighteous  oaths,  that  hei 
father  should  never  have  power  to  persecute  her  again  aa 
long  as  he  himself  lived  to  shelter  and  take  care  of  her. 

I  was  so  interested  in  my  Monte  Cristo  and  Haidee  (it 
was  so  like  a  chapter  out  of  a  book),  that  I  entirely  forgot 
my  durance  vile,  and  my  novel  and  excessively  disgrace- 
ful, though  enforced,  occupation  of  spy ;  and  there  I 
stayed,  alternating  between  my  interest  in  them  and  my 
agonies  at  the  revelations  concerning  my  Eudoxia  Adel- 
aida — oh,  hang  it!  I  mean  Sarah  Briggs — till,  after  a 
most  confounded  long  time,  Conran  saw  fit  to  take  Lu- 
orezia  off,  to  get  asylum  for  her  with  the  Colonel's  wife 
^or  a  day  or  two,  that  "  those  fools  might  not  misconstrue 
her."  By  which  comprehensive  epithet  he,  I  suppose, 
politely  designated  "  Ours." 

Then  I  went  my  ways  to  my  own  room,  and  there  I 
found  a  scented,  mauve-hued,  creamy  billet-doux,  in  un- 
common bad  handwriting,  though,  from  my  miserable 
Eudoxia  Adelaida  to  the  "  friend  and  lover  of  her  soul." 
Confound  the  woman! — how  I  swore  at  that  daintily- 
perfumed  and  most  vilely-scrawled  letter.  To  think  that 
where  that  beautiful  signature  stretched  from  one  side  to 
the  other  —  "Eudoxia  Adelaida  St.  Julian"  —  there 
ougld  to  have  been  that  short,  vile,  low-bred,  hideous, 
Billingsgate  cognomen  of  "Sarah  Briggs!" 

In  the  note  she  reproached  me — the  wretched  hypo- 
crite!— for  my  departure  the  previous  night,  "  without 
one  farewell  to  your  Eudoxia,  O  cruel  Augustus ! "  and 
asked  me  to  give  her  a  rendezvous  at  some  vineyards 
lying  a  little  way  oft'  the  Casa  di  Fiori,  on  the  read  to 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  T9 

Melita.  Now,  being  a  foolish  boy,  and  regarding  myself 
as  having  been  loved  and  wronged,  Avhereas  I  had  only 
been  playing  the  very  common  role  of  pigeon,  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  of  going,  just  to  take  one  last  look 
of  that  fair,  cruel  face,  and  upbraid  her  with  being  the 
first  to  sow  the  fatal  seeds  of  lifelong  mistrust  and  misery 
in  my  only  too  fond  and  faithful,  &c.  &c.  &c. 

So,  at  the  appointed  hour,  just  when  the  sun  Avas  set- 
ting over  the  far-away  Spanish  shore,  and  the  hush  of 
night  Avas  sinking  over  the  little,  rocky,  peppery,  mili- 
tary-thick, Mediterranean  isle,  I  found  myself  e?i  rowfe  to 
the  vineyards  ;  Avhich,  till  I  came  to  Malta,  had  been  one 
of  my  delusions,  Idea  picturing  them  in  wreaths  and 
avenues,  Reality  proving  them  hop-sticks  and  parched 
earth.  I  drew  near ;  it  Avas  quite  dark  now,  the  sun  had 
gone  to  sleep  under  the  blue  waves,  and  the  moon  was 
not  yet  up.  Though  I  knoAV  she  Avas  Sarah  Briggs,  and 
an  adventuress  Avho  had  made  game  of  me,  two  facts  that 
one  Avould  fancy  might  chill  the  passion  out  of  anybody, 
so  mad  was  I  about  that  Avoman,  that,  if  I  had  met  her 
then  and  there,  I  should  have  let  her  wheedle  me  over, 
and  gone  back  to  the  Casa  di  Fiori  with  her  and  been 
fleeced  again :  I  am  sure  I  should,  sir,  and  so  would  you, 
if,  at  eighteen,  new  to  life,  you  had  fallen  in  Avith  Eudox 

pshaAv! — with  Sarah  Briggs,  my  Marchioness   St. 

Julian. 

I  droAV  near  the  vineyards  :  my  heart  beat  thick,  I  could 
not  see,  but  I  Avas  certain  I  heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress, 
caught  the  perfume  of  her  hair.  All  her  sins  vanished  : 
how  could  I  upbraid  her,  though  she  Avere  three  times 
over  Sarah  Briggs  ?  Yes,  she  Avas  coming ;  I  felt  her 
near ;  an  electric  thrill  rushed  through  me  as  soul  met 
Boul.  I  heard  a  murmured  "  Dearest,  sweetest ! "  I  felt 
the  Avarm  clasp  of  tAvo  arms,  but  —  a  cold  row  of  undress 
waistcoat-buttons  came  against  my  face,  and  a  voice  1 
knew  too  Avell  crie/l  out,  as  I  rebounded  from  him,  im- 
pelled thereto  by  a  not  gentle  kick, — 


80  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCniONESS. 

"  The  devil !  get  out !     Who  the  deuce  are  you  ?' 

We  both  stopped  for  breath.  At  that  minute  up  rose 
the  silver  moon,  and  in  its  tell-tale  rays  we  glared  on  one 
another,  I  and  Little  Grand. 

That  silence  was  sublime :  the  pause  between  Beetho- 
ven's andante  allegro — the  second  before  the  Spanish 
bull  rushes  upon  the  torreador. 

"  You  little  miserable  wretch  !  "  burst  out  Grand,  slowly 
and  terribly;  "you  little,  mean,  sneaking,  spying,  con- 
temptible milksop !  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean 
by  bringing  out  your  ugly  phiz  at  this  hour,  when  you 
used  to  be  afraid  of  stirring  out  for  fear  of  nurse's  bogies  ? 
And  to  dare  to  come  lurking  after  me ! " 

"  After  you,  Mr.  Grandison ! "  I  repeated,  with  gran- 
diloquence. "  Really  you  put  too  much  importance  on 
your  own  movements.  I  came  by  appointment  to  meet 
the  Marchioness  St.  Julian,  whom,  I  presume,  as  you  are 
well  acquainted  with  her,  you  know  in  her  real  name  of 
Sarah  Briggs,  and  to " 

"Sarah  Briggs! — you  come  by  appointment?"  stam- 
mered Little  Grand. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  if  you  disbelieve  my  word  of  honor,  I  will 
sondescend  to  show  you  my  invitation." 

"  You  little  ape ! "  swore  Grand,  coming  back  to  his 
previous  wrath  ;  "  it  is  a  lie,  a  most  abominable,  unwar- 
rantable lie  !  I  came  by  appointment,  sir ;  you  did  no 
such  thing.     Look  there ! " 

And  he  flaunted  before  my  eyes  in  the  moonlight  the 
fac-simile  of  my  letter,  verbatim  copy,  save  that  in  hia 
Cosmo  was  put  in  the  stead  of  Augustus. 

"  Look  there  ! "  said  I,  giving  him  mine. 

Little  Grand  snatched  it,  read  it  over  once,  twice,  thnce, 
then  drooped  his  head,  with  a  burning  color  in  his  face, 
and  was  silent. 

The  "  knowing  hand  "  was  done ! 

We  were  both  of  us  uncommonly  quiet  for  ten  minutes ; 
neither  of  us  liked  to  be  the  first  to  give  in. 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE     .1 ARCQIONESS.  81 

At  last  Little  Grand  looked  up  and  held  out  his  hand, 
no  more  nonsense  about  him  now. 

"  Simon,  you  and  I  have  been  two  great  fools  ;  we  can't 
chaff  one  another.  She's  a  cursed  actress,  and — let's 
make  it  up,  old  boy." 

We  made  it  up  accordingly  —  when  Little  Grand  wa« 
not  conceited  he  was  a  very  jolly  fellow — and  then  I 
gave  him  my  whole  key  to  the  mysteries,  intricacies,  and 
charms  of  our  Casa  di  Fiori.  We  could  not  chaff  one 
another,  but  poor  Little  Grand  was  pitiably  sore  then,  and 
for  long  afterwards.  He,  the  "  old  bird,"  the  cool  hand, 
the  sharp  one  of  Ours,  to  have  been  done  brown,  to  be  the 
joke  of  the  mess,  the  laugh  of  all  the  men,  down  to  the 
weest  drummer-boy !  Poor  Little  Grand !  He  was  too 
done  up  to  swagger,  too  thoroughly  angry  with  himself  to 
swear  at  anybody  else.  He  only  whispered  to  me,  "  Why 
the  dickens  could  she  want  you  and  me  to  meet  our- 
selves?" 

"  To  give  us  a  finishing  hoax,  I  suppose,"  I  suggested. 

Little  Grand  drew  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  and  hung  his 
head  down  in  abject  humiliation. 

"  I  suppose  so.  What  fools  we  have  been,  Simon ! 
And,  I  say,  I  've  borrowed  three  hundred  of  old  Mira- 
flores,  and  it 's  all  gone  up  at  that  devilish  Casa ;  and 
how  I  shall  get  it  from  the  governor.  Heaven  knows,  for 
I  don't." 

"  I  'm  in  the  same  pickle,  Grand,"  I  groaned.  "  I  've 
given  that  old  rascal  notes  of  hand  for  two  hundred 
pounds,  and,  if  it  don't  drop  from  the  clouds,  I  shall  never 
pay  it.   Oh,  I  say.  Grand,  love  comes  deucedly  expensive." 

"Ah ! "  said  he,  with  a  sympathetic  shiver,  "  think  what 
a  pair  of  hunters  we  might  have  had  for  the  money ! " 
With  which  dismal  and  remorseful  remembrance  the  old 
bird,  who  had  been  trapped  like  a  young  pigeon,  swore 
mightily,  and  withdrew  into  humbled  and  disgusted 
silence. 


82  LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS. 

Next  morning  we  heard,  to  our  comfort — what  lots  of 
people  there  always  are  to  tell  us  how  to  lock  our  stable- 
door  when  our  solitary  mare  has  been  stolen — that,  with  a 
gentle  hint  from  the  police,  the  Marchioness  St.  Julian, 
with  her  confreres,  had  taken  wing  to  the  Ionian  Isles, 
where,  at  Corfu  or  Cephalonia,  they  will  re-erect  the  Casa 
di  Fieri,  and  glide  gently  on  again  from  vingt-et-un  to  loo, 
and  from  loo  to  lansquenet,  under  eyes  as  young  and 
blinded  as  our  own.  They  went  without  Lucrezia.  Con- 
ran  took  her  into  his  own  hands.  Any  other  man  in  the 
regiment  would  have  been  pretty  well  ridiculed  at  taking 
a  bride  out  of  the  Cara  di  Fiori ;  but  the  statements  made 
by  the  high-born  Abbess  of  her  Roman  convert  were  so 
clear,  and  so  to  the  girl's  honor,  and  he  had  such  a  way 
of  holding  his  own,  of  keeping  off  liberties  from  himself 
and  anything  belonging  to  him,  and  was,  moreover,  known 
to  be  of  such  fastidious  honor,  that  his  young  wife  was 
received  as  if  she  had  been  a  Princess  in  her  own  right. 
With  her  respected  parent  Conran  had  a  brief  intervicAV 
previous  to  his  flight  from  Malta,  in  which,  with  a  few 
gentle  hints,  he  showed  that  worthy  it  would  be  wiser  to 
leave  his  daughter  unmolested  for  the  future,  and  I  doubt 
if  Mr.  Orangia  Magnolia,  alias  Pepe  Guari,  would  know 
his  own  child  in  the  joyous,  graceful,  daintily-dressed 
mistress  of  Conran's  handsome  Parisian  establishment. 

Little  Grand  and  I  suffered  cruelly.  We  were  the  butts 
of  the  mess  for  many  a  long  month  afterwards,  when 
every  idiot's  tongue  asked  us  on  every  side  after  the  health 
of  the  Marchioness  St.  Julian  ?  when  we  were  going  to 
teach  them  lansquenet?  how  often  we  heard  from  the 
aristocratic  members  of  the  Maltese  Peerage  ?  with  like 
delightful  pleasantries,  which  the  questioners  deemed  high 
wit.  We  paid  for  it,  too,  to  that  arch  old  screw  Baltha- 
zar ;  but  I  doubt  very  much  if  the  money  were  not  well 
lost,  and  the  experience  well  gained.  It  cured  me  of  my 
rawness  and  Little  Grand  of  his    self-conceit,  the  only 


LITTLE    GRAND    AND    THE    MARCHIONESS.  83 

thing  that  had  before  spoilt  that  good-hearted,  quick- 
tempered, and  clever-brained  little  fellow.  Oh,  Pater 
and  Materfaniilias,  disturb  not  yourselves  so  unnecessarily 
al)out  the  crop  of  wild  oats  which  your  young  ones  are 
sowing  broadcast.  Those  wild  oats  often  spring  from  a 
good  field  of  high  spirit,  hot  courage,  and  thoughtless 
generosity,  that  are  the  sign  and  basis  of  nobler  virtues 
to  come,  and  from  them  very  often  rise  two  goodly  plants 
— Experience  and  Discernment. 


LADY  MARABOUT'S  TROUBLES; 


THE  WORRIES  OF  A  CHAPERONE. 


IN  THREE  SEASONS. 
SEASON   THE   FIRST. THE   ELIGIBLE. 

[|NE  of  the  kindest-natured  persons  that  I  ever 
knew  on  this  earth,  where  kind  people  are  as  rare 
as  bhick  eagles  or  red  deer,  is  Helena,  Countess 
of  Maraoout,  nee  De  Boncoeur.  She  has  foibles,  she  has 
weaknesses — who  amongst  us  has  not? — she  will  wear 
her  dresses  dicolletees,  though  she 's  sixty,  if  Burke  tells 
us  truth ;  sne  will  rouge  and  practise  a  thousand  other 
little  toilette  tricks ,  but  they  are  surely  innocent,  since 
they  deceive  nobody ;  and  if  you  wait  for  a  woman  who 
has  no  artifices,  I  am  afraid  you  shall  have  to  forswear 
the  sex  in  toto,  my  friends,  and  come  growling  back  to 
your  Diogenes'  tub  in  the  Albany,  with  your  lantei-n  still 
lit  every  day  of  your  lives. 

Lady  Marabout  is  a  very  charming  person.  As  for 
her  weaknesses,  she  is  all  the  nicer  for  them,  to  my  taste. 
I  like  people  with  weaknesses  myself;  those  without  them 
do  look  so  dreadfully  scornfully  and  unsympathizingly 
upon  one  from  the  altitude  of  their  superiority,  de  toute 
la  hauteur  de  sa  bethe,  as  a  witty  Frenchman  says.  Hu- 
manity was  bovn  with  weaknesses.     If  1  were  a  beggar,  I 

(84) 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  8^ 

might  hope  for  a  coin  from  a  man  with  some ;  a  man 
without  any,  I  know,  would  shut  up  his  porte-monnaie, 
with  an  intensified  click,  to  make  me  feel  trebly  envioUs, 
and  consign  me  to  D  15  and  his  truncheon,  on  the  score 
of  vagrancy. 

Lady  Marabout  is  a  very  charming  person,  despite  her 
little  foibles,  and  she  gives  very  pleasant  little  dinners, 
both  at  her  house  in  Lowndes  Square  and  in  her  jointure 
villa  at  Twickenham,  where  the  bad  odors  of  Thames  are 
drowned  in  the  fragrance  of  the  geraniums,  piled  in  great 
heaps  of  red,  white,  and  variegated  blossom  in  the  flower- 
beds on  the  lawn.  She  has  been  married  twice,  but  has 
only  one  son,  by  her  first  union — Carruthers,  of  the 
Guards — a  very  good  fellow,  whom  his  mother  thinks 
perfection,  though  if  she  did  know  certain  scenes  in  her 
adored  Philip's  life,  the  good  lady  might  hesitate  before 
she  endowed  her  son  with  all  the  cardinal  virtues  as  she 
does  at  the  present  moment.  She  has  no  daughters, 
therefore  you  will  wonder  to  hear  that  the  prime  misery, 
burden,  discomfort,  and  worry  of  her  life  is  chaperonage. 
But  so  it  is. 

Lady  Marabout  is  the  essence  of  good  nature ;  she 
can't  say  No  :  that  unpleasant  negative  monosyllable  was 
never  heard  to  issue  from  her  full,  smiling,  kind-looking 
lips :  she  is  in  a  high  position,  she  has  an  extensive  circle, 
thanks  to  her  own  family  and  those  of  the  baronet  and 
peer  she  successively  espoused  ;  and  some  sister,  or  cousin, 
or  friend,  is  incessantly  hunting  her  up  to  bring  out  their 
girls,  and  sell  them  well  off  out  of  hand ;  young  ladies 
being  goods  extremely  likely  to  hang  on  hand  now- 
adays. 

"  Of  all  troubles,  the  troubles  of  a  chaperone  are  the 
greatest,"  said  Lady  Marabout  to  me  at  the  wedding 
dejeimer  of  one  of  her  protegees.  "  In  the  first  place,  one 
looks  on  at  others'  campaigns  instead  of  conducting  them 
one's  self;  secondly,  it  brings  back  one's  own  bright  daya 
8 


^6  LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

to  see  the  young  things'  smiles  and  blushes,  like  that 
girl's  just  now  (I  do  hope  she'll  be  happy !)  ;  and  thirdly, 
one  has  all  the  responsibility,  and  gets  all  the  blame  if 
anything  goes  Avrong.  I'll  never  chaperone  anybody 
again  now  I  have  got  rid  of  Leila." 

So  does  Lady  Marabout  say  twenty  times ;  yet  has  she 
invariably  some  young  lady  under  her  wing,  whose  rela- 
tives are  defunct,  or  invalided,  or  in  India,  or  out  of 
society  somehow ;  and  we  all  of  us  call  her  house  The 
Yard,  and  her  (among  ourselves)  not  Lady  Marabout 
but  Lady  Tattersall.  The  worries  she  has  in  her  chape- 
rone's  office  would  fill  a  folio,  specially  as  her  heart  in- 
clines to  the  encouragement  of  romance,  but  her  reason 
to  the  banishment  thereof;  and  while  her  tenderness  suf- 
fers if  she  thwarts  her  protegees'  leanings,  her  conscience 
gives  her  neuralgic  twinges  if  she  abets  them  to  unwise 
matches  while  under  her  dragonnage. 

"What's  the  matter,  mother?"  asked  Carruthers,  one 
morning.  He's  very  fond  of  his  mother,  and  will  never 
let  any  one  laugh  at  her  in  his  hearing. 

"  Matter  ?  Everything  !  "  replied  Lady  Marabout, 
concisely  and  comprehensively,  as  she  sat  on  the  sofix  in 
her  boudoir,  with  her  white  ringed  hands  and  her  bie^i 
conserve  look,  and  her  kindly  pleasant  eyes  and  her  rich 
dress ;  one  could  see  what  a  pretty  woman  she  has  been, 
and  that  Carruthers  may  thank  her  for  his  good  looks. 
"To  begin  with,  Felicie  has  been  so  stupid  as  to  marry; 
married  the  greengrocer  (whom  she  will  ruin  in  a  week  !), 
and  has  left  me  to  the  mercies  of  a  stupid  woman  who 
puts  pink  with  cerise,  mauve  with  magenta,  and  sky-blue 
with  azureline,  and  has  no  recommendation  except  that 
she  is  as  ugly  as  the  Medusa,  and  so  will  not  tempt  you 
to " 

"  Make  love  to  her,  as  I  did  to  Marie,"  laughed  Car- 
ruthers. "ISIarie  was  a  pretty  little  dear;  it  was  very 
severe  in  you  to  send  her  away." 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  87 

Lady  Marabout  tried  hard  to  look  severe  and  condem- 
natory, but  failed  signally,  nature  had  formed  the  smooth 
brow  and  the  kindly  eyes  in  far  too  soft  a  mould. 

"  Don't  jest  about  it,  Philip ;  you  know  it  was  a  great 
pain,  annoyance,  and  scandal  to  me.  Well !  Felicie  is 
gone,  and  Oakes  was  seen  pawning  some  of  my  Mechlin 
the  other  day,  so  I  have  been  obliged  to  discharge  her ; 
and  they  both  of  them  suited  me  so  well !  Then  Bijou 
is  ill,  poor  little  pet " 

"  With  repletion  of  chicken  panada  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Bijou  is  n't  such  a  gourmet.  You  judge  him  by 
yourself,  I  suppose ;  men  always  do !  Then  Lady  Haut- 
ton  told  me  last  night  that  you  were  the  wildest  man  on 
town,  and  at  forty " 

"You  think  I  ought  to  ranger  F  Sol  will,  my  dear 
mother,  some  day;  but  at  present  I  am — so  very  com- 
fortable ;  it  would  be  a  pity  to  alter !  What  pains  one's 
friends  are  always  at  to  tell  unpalatable  things ;  if  they 
would  but  be  only  half  so  eager  to  tell  us  the  pleasant 
ones !  I  shall  expect  you  to  cut  Lady  Hautton  if  she 
speak  badly  of  me.  I  can't  afibrd  to  lose  your  worshiji, 
mother ! " 

"  My  worship  ?  How  conceited  you  are,  Philip !  As 
for  Lady  Hautton,  I  believe  she  does  dislike  you,  because 
you  did  not  engage  yourself  to  Adelina,  and  were  selected 
aide-de-camp  to  her  Majesty,  instead  of  Hautton ;  still,  I 
am  afraid  she  spoke  too  nearly  the  truth." 

"  Perhaps  Marie  has  entered  her  service  and  told  tales." 

But  Lady  Marabout  would  n't  laugh,  she  always  looks 
very  grave  about  Marie. 

"  My  worst  trouble,"  she  began  hastily,  "  is  that  your 
aunt  Honiton  is  too  ill  to  come  to  town  ;  no  chance  of  her 
being  well  enough  to  come  at  all  this  season ;  and  of 
course  the  charge  of  Valencia  has  devolved  on  me.  You 
know  how  I  hate  chaperoning,  and  I  did  so  hope  I  should 
be  free  this  year ;  besides,  Valencia  is  a  great  responsi- 


88  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

bility,  very  great ;  a  girl  of  so  much  beauty  always  is ; 
there  will  be  sure  to  be  so  many  men  about  her  at  once, 
and  your  aunt  will  expect  me  to  marry  her  so  very  well. 
It  is  excessively  annoying." 

"  My  poor  dear  mother ! "  cried  Carruthers.  "  I  grant 
you  are  an  object  of  pity.  You  are  everlastingly  having 
young  fillies  sent  you  to  break  in,  and  they  want  such  a 
tight  hand  on  the  ribbons." 

"And  a  tight  hand,  as  you  call  it,  I  never  had,  and 
never  shall  have,"  sighed  Lady  Marabout.  "Valencia 
will  be  no  trouble  to  me  on  that  score,  however ;  she  has 
been  admirably  educated,  knows  all  that  is  due  to  her 
position,  and  will  never  give  me  a  moment's  anxiety  by 
any  imprudence  or  inadvertence.  But  she  is  excessively 
handsome,  and  a  beauty  is  a  great  responsibility  when 
she  first  comes  out." 

"  Val  was  always  a  handsome  child,  if  I  remember.  I 
dare  say  she  is  a  beauty  now.  When  is  she  coming  up  ? 
because  I  '11  tell  the  men  to  mark  the  house  and  keep 
clear  of  it,"  laughed  Carruthers.  "  You  're  a  dreadfully 
dangerous  person,  mother  ;  you  have  always  the  best-look- 
ing girl  in  town  with  you.  Fulke  Nugent  says  if  he  should 
ever  want  such  a  thing  as  a  wife  when  he  comes  into  the 
title,  he  shall  take  a  look  at  the  Marabout  Yearlings 
Sale." 

"  Abominably  rude  of  you  and  your  friends  to  talk  me 
over  in  your  turf  slang !  I  wish  you  would  come  and  bid 
at  the  sale,  Philip;  I  should  like  to  see  you  married — 
well  married,  of  course." 

"  My  beloved  mother! "  cried  Carruthers.  "  Leave  me 
in  peace,  if  you  please,  and  catch  the  others  if  you  can. 
There 's  Goodey,  now  ;  every  chaperone  and  debutante  in 
London  has  set  traps  for  him  for  the  last  I  don't  knoN? 
how  many  years;  would  n't  he  do  for  Valencia?" 

"  Goodwood  ?  Of  course  he  would ;  he  would  do  f^r  any 
one ;  the  Dukedom  's  the  oldest  in  the  peerage.     Good- 


LADY    marabout's  TROUBLES.  89 

wood  is  highly  eligible.  Thank  you  for  reminding  me, 
Philip.  Since  Valencia  is  coming,  I  must  do  my  best  for 
her."  Which  phrase  meant  with  Lady  Marabout  that 
she  must  be  very  lynx-eyed  as  to  settlements,  and  a  per- 
fect dragon  to  all  detrimental  connections,  must  frown 
with  Medusa  severity  on  all  horrors  of  younger  sons,  and 
advocate  with  all  the  weight  of  personal  experience  the 
advantage  and  agremens  of  a  good  position,  in  all  of  which 
practicalities  she  generally  broke  down,  Avith  humiliation 
unspeakable,  immediately  her  heart  was  enlisted  and  her 
sympathies  appealed  to  on  the  enemy's  side.  She  sighed, 
played  with  her  bracelets  thoughtfully,  and  then,  heroi- 
cally resigning  herself  to  her  impending  fate,  brightened 
up  a  little,  and  asked  her  son  to  go  and  choose  a  new 
pair  of  carriage-horses  for  her. 

To  look  at  Lady  Marabout  as  she  sat  in  her  amber 
satin  couch  that  morning,  pleasant,  smiling,  well-dressed, 
well-looking,  with  the  grace  of  good  birth  and  the  sunni- 
ness  of  good  nature  plainly  written  on  her  smooth  brow 
and  her  kindly  eyes,  and  wealth  —  delicious  little  god!  — 
stamping  itself  all  about  her,  from  the  diamond  rings  on 
her  soft  white  fingers  to  the  broidered  shoe  on  the  feet, 
of  whose  smallness  she  was  still  proud,  one  might  have 
ignorantly  imagined  her  to  be  the  most  happy,  enviable, 
well-conditioned,  easy-going  dowager  in  the  United  King- 
dom. But  appearances  are  deceptive,  and  if  we  believe 
what  she  constantly  asserted,  Lady  Marabout  was  very 
nearly  worn  into  her  grave  by  a  thousand  troubles ; 
her  almshouses,  whose  roofs  would  eternally  blow  off 
with  each  high  wind ;  her  dogs,  whom  she  would  over- 
feed ;  her  ladies'  maids,  who  were  only  hired  to  steal,  tease, 
or  scandalize  her ;  the  begging  letter-writers,  who  distilled 
tears  from  her  eyes  and  sovereigns  from  her  purse,  let 
Carruthers  disclose  their  hypocrisies  as  he  might;  the 
bolder  begging-letters,  written  by  hon.  sees.,  and  headed 
by  names  with  long  handles,  belonging  to  Pillars  of  the 
8» 


LADY    MARABOUT  S    TROUBLES. 

State  and  Lights  of  the  Church,  which  compelled  her  to 
make  a  miserable  choice  between  a  straitened  income  or  a 
remorseful  conscience  —  tormented,  in  fine,  with  worries 
small  and  large,  from  her  ferns,  on  Avhich  she  spent  a 
large  fortune,  and  who  drooped  maliciously  in  their  glass 
(!ases,  with  an  ill-natured  obstinacy  characteristic  of 
desperately-courted  individuals,  whether  of  the  floral  or 
the  human  world,  to  those  marriageable  young  ladies 
whom  she  took  under  her  wing  to  usher  into  the  great 
world,  and  who  were  certain  to  run  counter  to  her  wishes 
and  overthrow  her  plans,  to  marry  ill,  or  not  marry  at  all, 
or  do  something  or  other  to  throw  discredit  on  her  chape- 
roning abilities.  She  was,  she  assured  us,  petrie  with 
worries,  small  and  large,  specially  as  she  was  so  eminently 
sunny,  aft'able,  and  radiant  a  looking  person,  that  all  the 
world  took  their  troubles  to  her,  selected  her  as  their  con- 
fidante, and  made  her  the  repository  of  their  annoyances; 
but  her  climax  of  misery  was  to  be  compelled  to  chape- 
rone,  and  as  a  petition  for  some  debutante  to  be  intrusted 
to  her  care  was  invariably  made  each  season,  and  "No" 
was  a  monosyllable  into  which  her  lips  utterly  refused  to 
form  themselves,  each  season  did  her  life  become  a  bur- 
den to  her.  There  was  never  any  rest  for  the  soul  of 
Helena,  Countess  of  Marabout,  till  her  house  in  Lowndes 
Square  was  shut  up,  and  her  charges  ofi"  her  hand,  and  she 
could  return  in  peace  to  her  jointure-villa  at  Twicken- 
ham, or  to  Carruthers'  old  Hall  of  Deepdene,  and  among 
her  flowers,  her  birds,  and  her  hobbies,  throw  oflT  for  a 
while  the  weary  burden  of  her  worries  as  a  chaperone. 

"  Valencia  will  give  me  little  trouble,  I  hope.  So  ad- 
mirably brought-up  a  girl,  and  so  handsome  as  she  is,  will 
be  sure  to  marry  soon,  and  marry  well,"  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  self-congratulatorily,  as  she  dressed  for  dinner 
the  day  of  her  niece's  arrival  in  town,  running  over  men- 
tally the  qualifications  and  attractions  of  Valencia  Valle- 
tort,  while  Felicie's  successor,  Mademoiselle  Despreaux, 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  91 

whose  crime  was  then  to  put  pink  with  cerise,  mauve  with 
magenta,  and  sky-blue  with  azureline,  gave  the  finishing 
touches  to  her  toilette  —  "Valencia  will  give  me  no 
trouble ;  she  has  all  the  De  Boncceur  beauty,  with  the 
Valletort  dignity.  Who  would  do  for  her  ?  Let  nie  see; 
eligible  men  are  not  abundant,  and  those  that  are  eligible 
are  shy  of  being  marked  as  Philip  would  say — perhaps 
from  being  hunted  so  much,  poor  things !  There  is  Fulke 
Nugent,  heir  to  a  barony,  and  his  father  is  ninety — very 
rich,  too — he  would  do;  and  Philip's  friend,  Caradoc, 
poor,  I  know,  but  their  Earldom  's  the  oldest  peerage 
patent.  There  is  Eyre  Lee,  too ;  I  don't  much  like  the 
man,  supercilious  and  empty-headed ;  still  he 's  an  unob- 
jectionable alliance.  And  there  is  Goodwood.  Every 
one  has  tried  for  Goodwood,  and  failed.  I  should  like 
Valencia  to  win  him ;  he  is  decidedly  the  most  eligible 
man  in  town.  I  will  invite  him  to  dinner.  If  he  is  not 
attracted  by  Valencia's  beauty,  nothing  can  attract  him 

Despreaux  !  comme  vous  etes  bete  !    Otez  ces panaches, 

de  grace  !  " 

"  Valencia  will  give  me  no  trouble  ;  she  will  marry  at 
once,"  thought  Lady  Marabout  again,  looking  across  the 
dinner-table  at  her  niece. 

If  any  young  patrician  might  be  likely  to  marry  at 
once,  it  was  the  Hon.  Valencia  Valletort ;  she  was,  to  the 
most  critical,  a  beauty  :  her  figure  was  perfect,  her  fea- 
tures were  perfect,  and  if  you  complained  that  her  large 
glorious  eyes  were  a  trifle  too  changeless  in  expression, 
that  her  cheek,  exquisitely  independent  of  Marechale 
powder,  Blanc  de  Perle,  and  liquid  rouge,  though  it  was, 
rarely  varied  with  her  thoughts  and  feelings,  why,  you 
were  very  exacting,  my  good  fellow,  and  should  remem- 
ber that  nothing  is  quite  perfect  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
' — not  even  a  racer  or  a  woman  —  and  that  whether  you 
bid  at  the  Marabout  yearling  sales  or  the  Rawcliffe,  if 
you  wish  to  be  pleased  you  'd  better  leave  a  /lypercritical 


92  LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

spirit  behind  you,  and  not  expect  to  get  all  points  to  your 
liking.  The  best  filly  will  have  something  faulty  in 
temper  or  breeding,  symmetry  or  pace,  for  your  friend 
Jack  Martingale  to  have  the  fun  of  pointing  out  to  you 
when  your  money  is  paid  and  the  filly  in  your  stall ;  and 
your  wife  will  have  the  same,  only  Martingale  will  point 
her  flaws  out  behind  your  back,  and  only  hint  them  to 
you  with  an  all-expressive  "  Not  allowed  to  smoke  in  the 
dining-room  ?iow/"  "A  little  bit  of  a  fiirt,  madame  — 
n'est-ce  pas,  Charlie?"  "  Reins  kept  rather  tight,  eh,  old 
fellow  ?  "  or  something  equally  ambiguous,  significant,  and 
unpleasant. 

"  I  must  consider,  Philip,  I  have  brought  out  the  beauty 
of  the  season,"  said  Lady  Marabout  to  Carruthers,  eying 
her  niece  as  she  danced  at  her  first  ball  at  the  Dowager- 
Duchess  of  Amandine's,  and  beginning  to  brighten  uj 
little  under  the  weight  of  her  responsibilities. 

"  I  think  you  have,  mother.  Val  's  indisputably  hand- 
some. You  must  tell  her  to  make  play  with  Goodwood  or 
Nugent." 

Lady  Marabout  unfurled  her  fan,  and  indignantly  in- 
terrupted him  : 

"My  dear  Philip!  do  you  suppose  I  would  teach  Va- 
lencia, or  any  girl  under  my  charge,  to  lay  herself  out  for 
any  man,  whoever  or  whatever  it  might  be?  I  trust 
your  cousiB  would  not  stoop  to  use  such  manoeuvres,  did 
I  even  stoop  to  counsel  them.  Depend  upon  it,  Philip, 
it  is  precisely  those  women  who  try  to  *  make  play,'  as 
you  call  it,  with  your  sex  that  fail  most  to  charm  them. 
It  is  abominable  the  way  in  which  you  men  talk,  as  if  we 
all  hunted  you  down,  and  would  drive  you  to  St.  George's 
nolens  volens!" 

"So  you  would,  mother,"  laughed  Carruthers.  "We 
'eligible  men'  have  a  harder  life  of  it  than  rabbits  in  a 
warren,  with  a  dozen  beagles  after  them.  From  the  minute 
we  're  of  age  we  're  beset  with  traps  for  the  unwary,  and 


LADY  marauout's  tkoubles.  93 

the  spring-guns  are  so  dexterously  covered  with  an  invit- 
ing, innocent-looking  turf  of  courtesies  and  hospitalities 
that  it 's  next  to  a  moral  impossibility  to  escape  them,  let 
one  retire  into  one's  self,  keep  to  monosyllables  through  all 
the  courses  of  all  the  dinners  and  all  the  turns  of  all  the 
valses,  and  avoid  everything  'compromising,'  as  one  may. 
I've  suffered,  and  can  tell  you.  I  sufier  still,  though  I 
believe  and  hope  they  are  beginning  to  look  on  me  as  an 
incurable,  given  over  to  the  clubs,  the  coulisses,  and  the 
cover-side.  There 's  a  fellow  that 's  known  still  more  of 
the.  jieines  fortes  et  dures  than  I.  Goodwood  's  coming  to 
ask  for  an  introduction  to  Val,  I  would  bet." 

He  was  coming  for  that  purpose,  and,  though  Lady 
Marabout  had  so  scornfully  and  sincerely  repudiated  her 
son's  counsel  relative  to  making  play  with  Goodwood, 
blandly  ignorant  of  her  ow;i  weaknesses  like  a  good  many 
other  people,  Lady  Marabout  was  not  above  a  glow  of 
chaperone  gratification  when  she  saw  the  glance  of  admi- 
ration which  the  Pet  Eligible  of  the  season  bestowed  on 
Valencia  Valletort.  Goodwood  was  a  good-looking  fellow 
— a  clever  fellow — though  possibly  he  shone  best  alone 
at  a  mess  luncheon,  in  a  chat  driving  to  Hornsey  Wood, 
round  the  fire  in  a  smoking-room,  on  a  yacht  deck,  or  any- 
where where  ladies  of  the  titled  world  were  not  encoun- 
tered, he  having  become  afraid  of  them  by  dint  of  much 
persecution,  as  any  October  partridge  of  a  setter's  nose. 
He  was  passably  good-looking,  ordinarily  clever,  a  very 
good  fellow  as  I  say,  and  —  he  was  elder  son  of  his  Grace 
of  Doncaster,  which  fact  would  have  made  him  the  de- 
sired of  every  unit  of  the  beau  sexe,  had  he  been  hideous 
as  the  Veiled  Prophet  or  Brutal  Gilles  de  Rayes.  The 
Beauty  often  loves  the  Beast  in  our  day,  as  in  the  days 
of  fairy  lore.  We  see  that  beloved  story  of  our  petticoat 
days  not  seldom  acted  out,  and  when  there  is  no  possibil- 
ity of  personal  transmogrification  and  amelioration  for 
the  Beast  moreover;  only — the  Beauty  has  always  had 


94  LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

whispered  in  her  little  ear  the  title  she  will  win,  and  the 
revenues  she  will  gain,  and  the  cloth  of  gold  she  will  wear, 
if  she  caresses  Bruin  the  enamoured,  swears  his  ugly  head 
is  god-like,  and  vows  fidelity  unswerving ! 

Goodwood  was  no  uncouth  Bruin,  and  he  had  straw- 
berry-leaves in  his  gift ;  none  of  your  lacquered,  or  ormolu, 
or  silver-gilt  coronets,  such  as  are  cast  about  nowadays 
with  a  liberality  that  reminds  one  of  flinging  a  handful  of 
halfpence  from  a  balcony,  where  the  nimblest  beggar  is 
first  to  get  the  prize ;  but  of  the  purest  and  best  gold  ;  and 
Goodwood  had  been  tried  for  accordingly  by  every  woman 
he  came  across  for  the  last  dozen  years.    Women  of  every 
style  and  every  order  had  primed  all  their  rifles,  and  had 
their  shot  at  him,  and  done  their  best  to  make  a  centre 
and  score  themselves    as  winner:  belles  and  bas  bleus, 
bewitching  widows  and  budding  debutantes,  fast  young 
ladies  who  tried  to  capture  him  in  the  hunting-field  by 
clearing  a  bullfinch  ;  saintly  young  ladies,  who  illumi- 
nated missals,  and  hinted  they  would  like  to  take  his  con- 
version in  hand ;  brilliant  women,  who  talked  at  him  all 
through  a  long  rainy  day,  when  Perthshire  was  flooded, 
and   the   black -fowl   unattainable ;   showy  women,   who 
pos&'d  for  him  whole  evenings  in  their  opera-boxes,  whole 
mornings  in  their  boudoir — all  styles  and  orders  had  set 
at  him,  till  he  had  sometimes  sworn  in  his  haste  that  all 
women  were  man-traps,  and  that  he  wished  to  Heaven  he 
were  a  younger  son  in  the  Foreign  Ofiice,  or  a  poor  devil 
in  the  Line,  or  anything,  rather  than  what  he  was ;  the 
Pet  Eligible  of  his  day. 

"  Goodwood  is  certainly  struck  with  her,"  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  as  Despreaux  disrobed  her  that  night,  running 
over  with  a  retrogressive  glance  Valencia  Valletort's  suc- 
cesses at  her  first  ball.  "  Very  much  struck,  indeed,  I 
should  say.  I  will  issue  cards  for  another  '  At  Home.' 
As  for  '  making  play '  with  him,  as  Philip  terms  it,  of 
course  that  is  only  a  man's  nonsense.     Valencia  will  nee<^ 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.  95 

none  of  those  trickeries,  I  trust;  still,  if  is  any  one's  duty 
to  make  the  best  alliance  possible  for  such  a  girl,  and  — 
dear  Adeliza  would  be  very  pleased." 

With  which  amiable  remembrance  of  her  sister  (whom, 
conceiving  it  her  duty  to  love.  Lady  Marabout  persuaded 
herself  that  she  did  love,  from  a  common  feminine  opti- 
cism  that  there 's  an  eleventh  commandment  which  makes 
it  compulsory  to  be  attached  to  relatives  n'importe  of 
whatever  degree  of  disagreeability,  though  Lady  Honiton 
was  about  the  most  odious  hypochondriac  going,  in  a  per- 
petual state  of  unremitting  battle  with  the  whole  outer 
world  in  general,  and  allopathists,  homoeopathists,  and 
hydropathists  in  especial),  the  most  amiable  lady  in  all 
Christendom  bade  Despreaux  bring  up  her  cup  of  coflee 
an  hour  earlier  in  the  morning,  she  had  so  much  to  do  ! 
asked  if  Bijou  had  had  some  panada  set  down  by  his 
basket  in  case  he  wanted  something  to  take  in  the  night ; 
wished  her  maid  good  night,  and  laid  her  head  on  her 
pillow  as  the  dawn  streamed  through  the  shutters,  already 
settling  what  bridal  presents  she  should  give  her  niece 
Valencia,  when  she  became  present  Marchioness  of  Good- 
wood and  prospective  Duchess  of  Doncaster  before  the 
altar  rails  of  St.  George's. 

"  That 's  a  decidedly  handsome  girl,  that  cousin  of  yours, 
Phil,"  said  Goodwood,  on  the  pavement  before  her  Grace 
of  Amandine's,  in  Grosvenor  Place,  at  the  same  hour  that 
night. 

"  I  think  she  is  counted  like  me ! "  said  Carruthers.  "  Of 
course  she 's  handsome ;  has  n't  she  De  Boncceur  blood  in 
her,  my  good  fellow  ?  We  're  all  of  us  good-looking,  always 
have  been,  thank  God  !  If  you  're  inclined  to  sacrifice 
Goodwood,  now 's  your  time,  and  my  mother  '11  be  de 
lighted.  She 's  brought  out  about  half  a  million  of  de- 
butantes, I  should  say,  in  her  time,  and  all  of  'em  have 
gone  wrong,  somehow  ;  would  n't  go  off  at  all,  like  damp 
gunpowder,  or  would  go  off  loo  (juick  in  the  wrong  direc- 


96  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

tion.like  a  volunteer's  rifle  charge ;  married  ignominiously, 
or  married  obstinately,  or  never  excited  pity  in  the  breast 
of  any  man,  but  had  to  retire  to  single-blessedness  in  the 
country,  console  themselves  ^vith  piety  and  an  harmonium, 
and  spread  nets  for  young  clerical  victims.  Give  her  a 
triumph  at  last,  and  let  her  have  glory  for  once,  as  a 
chaperone,  in  catching  you  !  " 

Goodwood  gave  a  little  shiver,  and  tried  to  light  a 
Manilla,  which  utterly  refused  to  take  light,  for  the 
twelfth  time  in  half  a  minute. 

"  Plold  your  tongue !  If  the  Templars'  Order  were  ex- 
tant, would  n't  I  take  the  vows  and  bless  them  !  What  an 
unspeakable  comfort  and  protection  that  white  cross  would 
be  to  us,  Phil,  if  we  could  stick  it  on  our  coats,  and  know 
it  would  say  to  every  woman  that  looked  at  us,  '  No  go, 
my  pretty  little  dears  —  not  to  be  caught!'  Marriage  !  I 
can't  remember  any  time  that  that  word  was  n't  my  bug- 
bear. When  I  was  but  a  little  chicken,  some  four  years 
old,  I  distinctly  remember,  when  I  was  playing  with  little 
Ida  Keane  on  the  terrace,  hearing  her  mother  simper  to 
mine,  '  Perhaps  darling  Goodwood  may  marry  my  little 
Ida  some  day,  who  knows  ?'  I  never  would  play  with  Ida 
afterwards ;  instinct  preserved  me ;  she 's  six  or  seven-and- 
thirty  now,  and  weighs  ten  stone,  I  'm  positive.  Why  wo7i't 
they  let  us  alone  ?  The  way  journalists  and  dowagers,  the 
fellows  who  Avant  to  write  a  taking  article,  and  the  women 
who  want  to  get  rid  of  a  taking  daughter,  all  badger  us,  in 
public  and  private,  about  marriage  just  now,  is  abominable, 
on  my  life ;  the  affair 's  ours,  I  should  say,  not  theirs,  and 
to  marry  isn't  the  ultimatum  of  a  man's  existence,  nor 
anything  like  it." 

"  I  hope  not !  It 's  more  like  the  extinguisher.  Good 
night,  old  fellow."  And  Carruthers  drove  away  in  his 
hansom,  while  Goodwood  got  into  his  night-brougham, 
thinking  that  for  the  sake  of  the  title,  the  evil  (nuptial) 
day  viust  come,  sooner  or  later,  but  dashed  off  to  forget 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  97 

the  disagreeable  obligation  over  the  supper-table  of  the 
most  sparkling  empress  of  the  demi-monde. 

Lady  Marabout  had  her  wish  ;  she  brought  out  the  belle 
of  the  season,  and  when  a  little  time  had  slipped  by,  when 
the  Hon.  Val  had  been  presented  at  the  first  Drawing- 
room,  and  shone  there  despite  the  worry,  muddle,  and 
squeeze  incidental  to  that  royal  and  fashionable  ceremony, 
and  she  had  gathered  second-hand  from  her  son  what  was 
said  in  the  clubs  relative  to  this  new  specimen  of  the 
Valletort  beauty,  she  began  to  be  happier  under  her  duties 
than  she  had.  ever  been  before,  and  wrote  letters  to  "  dear- 
est Adeliza,"  brimful  of  superlative  adjectives  and  genuine 
warmth. 

"  Valencia  will  do  me  credit :  I  shall  see  her  engaged 
before  the  end  of  June ;  she  will  have  only  to  choose," 
Lady  Marabout  would  say  to  herself  some  twenty  times 
in  the  pauses  of  the  morning  concerts,  the  morning  parties, 
the  bazaar  committees,  the  toilette  consultations,  the  au- 
diences to  religious  beggars,  whose  name  was  Legion  and 
rapacity  unmeasured,  the  mass  of  unanswered  correspond- 
ence whose  debt  lay  as  heavily  on  Lady  Marabout  as  his 
chains  on  a  convict,  and  were  about  as  little  likely  to  be 
knocked  oif,  and  all  the  other  things  innumerable  that 
made  her  life  in  the  season  one  teetotum  whirl  of  small 
worries  and  sunshiny  cares,  from  the  moment  she  began 
her  day,  with  her  earliest  cup  of  Mocha  softened  with 
cream  from  that  pet  dairy  of  hers  at  Fernditton,  where;, 
according  to  Lady  Marabout,  the  cows  were  constantly 
in  articulo  mortis,  but  the  milk  invariably  richer  than 
anywhere  else,  an  agricultural  anomaly  which  presented 
no  difficulties  to  her  reason.  Like  all  women,  she  loved 
paradoxes,  defied  logic  recklessly,  and  would  clear  at  a 
bound  a  chasm  of  solecisms  that  would  have  kept  Plato 
in  difficulties  about  crossing  it,  and  in  doubt  about  the 
strength  of  his  jumping-pole,  all  his  life  loiig. 

"She  will  do  me  great  cred't,"  the  semi-consoled  cha- 


98  -LADY    MAiiABOUT'S    TROUBLES. 

perone  would  say  to  herself  with  self-congratulatory  relief; 
und  if  Lady  Marabout  thought  now  and  then,  "  I  wish  she 
were  a  trifle  —  a  trifle  more — demonstrative,"  she  in- 
stantly checked  such  an  ungrateful  and  hypercritical 
Avish,  and  remembered  that  a  heart  is  a  highy  treacher- 
ous and  unadvisable  possession  for  any  yourg  lady,  and 
a  most  happy  omission  in  her  anatomy,  though  Lady 
Marabout  had,  she  would  confess  to  herself  on  occasiona 
with  great  self-reproach,  an  unworthy  and  lingering  Aveak- 
ness  for  that  contraband  article,  for  which  she  scorned  and 
scolded  herself  with  the  very  worst  success. 

Lady  Marabout  had  a  heart  herself;  to  it  she  had  had 
to  date  the  greatest  worries,  troubles,  imprudences,  and 
vexations  of  her  life ;  she  had  had  to  thank  it  for  nothing, 
and  to  dislike  it  for  much  ;  it  had  made  her  grieve  most 
absurdly  for  other  people's  griefs ;  it  had  given  her  a 
hundred  unphilosophical  pangs  at  philosophic  ingratitude 
from  people  who  wanted  her  no  longer ;  it  had  teased, 
worried,  and  plagued  her  all  her  life  long,  had  often  in- 
terfered in  the  most  meddling  and  inconvenient  manner 
between  her  and  her  reason,  her  comfort  and  her  pru- 
dence ;  and  yet  she  had  a  weakness  for  the  same  detri- 
mental organ  in  other  people — a  weakness  of  which  she 
could  no  more  have  cured  herself  than  of  her  belief  in 
the  detection-defying  powers  of  liquid  rouge,  the  potenti- 
ality of  a  Lilijiutian  night-bolt  against  an  army  of  bur- 
glars, the  miraculous  properties  of  sal  volatile,  the  eflicacy 
of  sermons,  and  such-like  articles  of  faith  common  to 
feminine  orthodoxy.  A  weakness  of  which  she  never  felt 
more  ignominiously  convicted  and  more  secretly  ashamed 
than  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Valletort,  that  young  lady 
having  a  lofty  and  magnificent  disdain  for  all  such  follies, 
quite  unattainable  to  ordinary  mortals,  wiiich  oppressed 
Lady  Marabout  with  a  humiliating  sense  of  inferiority  to 
her  niece  of  eighteen  summers.  "  So  admirably  educated  1 
so  admirably  brouglit  up!"  she  would  say  to  herself  over 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  99 

and  over  again,  and  if  heretic  suggestions  that  the  stiffest 
trained  flowers  are  not  always  the  best,  that  the  upright 
and  spotless  arum-lily  is  n't  so  fragrant  as  the  careless, 
brilliant,  tangled  clematis;  that  rose-boughs,  tossing  free 
in  sunshine  and  liberty,  beat  hollow  the  most  carefully- 
pruned  standard  that  ever  won  a  medal  at  Regent's  Park. 
Avith  such-like  allegories,  arising  from  contemplation  of 
her  conservatory  or  her  balcony  flowers,  would  present 
themselves,  Lady  Marabout  repressed  them  dutifully,  and 
gratefully  thought  how  many  pounds'  weight  lighter  be- 
came the  weary  burden  of  a  chaperone's  responsibilities 
when  the  onerous  charge  had  been  educated  "on  the  best 
system." 

"Goodwood's  attentions  are  serious,  Philip,  say  what 
you  like,"  said  the  Countess  to  her  son,  as  determinedly 
as  a  theologian  states  his  pet  points  with  wool  in  his  ears, 
that  he  may  not  hear  any  Satan-inspired,  rational,  and 
mathematical  disproval  of  them,  with  which  you  may 
rashly  seek  to  soil  his  tympana  and  smash  his  arguments 
— "Goodwood's  attentions  are  serious,  Philip,  say  what 
you  like,"  said  her  ladyship,  at  a  morning  party  at  Kew, 
eating  her  Neapolitan  ice,  complacently  glancing  at  the 
"  most  eligible  alliance  of  the  season,"  who  was  throwing 
the  balls  at  lawn-billiards,  and  talking  between  whiles  to 
the  Hon,  Val  with  praiseworthy  and  promising  animation. 

"  Serious  indeed,  mother,  if  they  tend  matrimony-wards ! " 
smiled  Can-uthers.  "  It 's  a  very  serious  time  indeed  for 
unwary  sparrows  when  they  lend  an  ear  to  the  call-bird, 
and  think  about  hopping  on  to  the  lime-twigs.  I  should 
think  it 's  from  a  sense  of  compunction  for  the  net  you  've 
led  us  into,  that  you  all  particularize  our  attentions,  when- 
ever they  point  near  St.  George's,  by  that  very  suggestive 
little  adjective  *  serious ! '  Yes,  I  am  half  afraid  poor 
Goodey  is  a  little  touched.  He  threw  over  our  Derby 
sweepstakes  up  at  Hornscy  Wood  yesterday  to  go  and 
stifle  himself  in  Willis's  rooms  at  your  bazaar,  and  buy 


100  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

a  guinea  cup  of  Souchong  from  Valencia ;  and,  consid- 
ering he  's  one  of  the  best  shots  in  England,  I  don't  think 
you  could  have  a  more  conclusive,  if  you  could  have  a  more 
poetic,  proof  of  devoted  renunciation.  I'd  fifty  times 
rather  get  a  spear  in  my  side,  a  la  Ivanhoe,  for  a  woman 
than  give  up  a  Pigeon-match,  a  Cup-day,  or  a  Field- 
night!" 

"You'll  never  do  either!"  laughed  Lady  Marabout, 
•who  made  it  one  of  her  chief  troubles  that  her  son  would 
not  marry,  chiefly,  probably,  because  if  he  had  married 
she  would  have  been  miserable,  and  thought  no  woman 
good  enough  for  him,  would  have  been  jealous  of  his 
wife's  share  of  his  heart,  and  supremely  wretched,  I  have 
no  doubt,  at  his  throwing  himself  away,  as  she  would  have 
thought  it,  had  his  handkerchief  lighted  on  a  Princess 
born,  lovely  as  Galatea,  and  blessed  with  Venus's  cestus. 

"  Never,  plaise  d  Dieu  !  "  responded  her  son,  piously  over 
his  ice;  "but  if  Goodwood 's  serious,  what 's  Cardonnel? 
He 's  lost  his  head,  if  you  like,  after  the  Valletort  beauty." 

"  Major  Cardonnel !"  said  Lady  Marabout,  hastily. 
"Oh  no,  I  don't  think  so.     I  hope  not — I  trust  not." 

"  Why  so  ?  He 's  one  of  the  finest  fellows  in  the 
Service." 

"  I  dare  say ;  but  you  see,  my  dear  Philip,  he 's  not 
— not — desirable." 

Carruthers  stroked  his  moustaches  and  laughed  : 

"  Fie,  fie,  mother !  if  all  other  Belgraviennes  are  Mam- 
mon-worshippers, I  thought  you  tept  clear  of  the  pagan- 
ism. X  thought  your  freedom  from  it  was  the  only  touch 
by  which  you  Avere  n't '  purely  feminine,'  as  the  lady  nov- 
elists say  of  their  pet  bits  of  chill  propriety," 

"  Worship  Mammon !  Heaven  forbid  I  "  ejaculated 
Lady  Marabout.  "But  there  are  duties,  you  see,  my 
dear ;  your  friend  is  a  very  delightful  man,  to  be  sure ;  I 
like  him  excessively,  and  if  Valencia  felt  any  great  pref- 
erence for  him " 


LADY    marabout's    VROTJBLES.  101 

"You'd  feel  it  your  duty  to  counsel  her  to  throw  him 
over  for  Goodwood." 

"  I  never  said  so,  Philip,"  interrupted  Lady  Marabout, 
•with  as  near  an  approach  to  asperity  as  she  could  achieve, 
which  approach  was  less  like  vinegar  than  most  people's 
best  honey. 

"  But  you  implied  it.  What  are  *  duties '  else,  and  why 
is  poor  Cardonnel  '  not  desirable '  ?  " 

Lady  Marabout  played  a  little  tattoo  with  her  spoon  in 
perplexity. 

"  My  dear  Philip,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  what  I 
mean.  One  might  think  you  were  a  boy  of  twenty  to 
hear  you!" 

"  My  dear  mother,  like  all  disputants,  when  beaten  in 
argument  and  driven  into  a  corner,  you  resort  to  vitupera- 
tion of  your  opponent!"  laughed  Carruthers,  as  he  left 
hor  and  lounged  away  to  pick  up  the  stick  with  which 
pretty  Flora  Elmers  had  just  knocked  the  pipe  out  of 
Aunt  Sally's  head  on  to  the  velvet  lawn  of  Lady  Georgo 
Frangipane's  dower-house,  leaving  his  mother  by  no  means 
tranquillized  by  his  suggestions. 

"  Dear  me!"  thought  Lady  Marabout,  uneasily,  as  she 
conversed  with  the  Dowager-Countess  of  Patchouli  on  the 
respective  beauties  of  two  new  pelargonium  seedlings,  the 
Leucadia  and  the  Beatrice,  for  which  her  gardener  had 
won  prizes  the  day  before  at  the  Regent's  Park  Show — 
"  dear  me !  why  is  there  invariably  this  sort  of  cross- 
purposes  in  everything?  It  will  be  so  grievous  to  lose 
Goodwood  (and  he  is  decidedly  struck  with  her ;  when  he 
bought  that  rosebud  yesterday  of  her  at  the  bazaar,  and 
put  it  in  the  breast  of  his  waistcoat,  I  heard  what  he  said, 
and  it  was  no  nonsense,  no  mere  flirting  complaisance 
either) — it  would  be  so  grievous  to  lose  him  ;  and  yet  if 
Valencia  really  care  for  Cardonnel  —  and  sometimes  I 
almost  fancy  she  does  —  I  shouldn't  know  which  way 
to  advise.  I  thought  it  would  be  odd  if  a  season  could 
9* 


102  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

pass  quielly  without  ray  having  some  worry  of  this  sort! 
With  iifty  men  always  about  Valencia,  as  they  are,  how 
can  I  be  responsible  for  any  mischief  that  may  happen, 
though,  to  hear  Philip  talk,  one  would  really  imagine  it 
was  my  fault  that  they  lost  their  heads,  as  he  calls  it !  As 
if  a  forty-horse  steam-power  could  stop  a  man  when  he's 
once  off  down  the  incline  into  love !  The  more  you  try 
to  pull  him  back  the  more  impetus  you  give  him  to  go 
headlong  down.  I  wish  Goodwood  would  propose,  and 
we  could  settle  the  affair  definitively.  It  is  singular,  but 
she  has  had  no  offers  hardly  witli  all  her  beauty.  It  is 
very  singular,  in  my  first  season  I  had  almost  as  many  as 
I  had  names  on  my  tablets  at  Almack's.  But  men  don't 
marry  now,  they  say.  Perhaps  'tis  n't  to  be  wondered  at, 
though  I  would  n't  allow  it  to  Philip.  Poor  things!  they 
lose  a  very  great  many  pleasant  things  by  it,  and  get 
nothing,  I  'm  sure,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  except  increased 
expenses  and  unwelcome  worries.  I  don't  think  I  would 
have  married  if  I  'd  been  a  man,  though  I  'd  never  admit 
it,  of  course,  to  one  of  them.  There  are  plenty  of  women 
who  know  too  much  of  their  own  sex  ever  to  wonder  that 
a  man  does  n't  marry,  though  of  course  we  don't  say  so; 
'twould  n't  be  to  our  interest.  Sculptors  might  as  well 
preach  iconoclasra,  or  wine-merchants  tee-totalism,  as 
women  misoganism,  however  little  in  our  hearts  we  may 
marvel  at  it.  Oh,  my  dear  Lady  Patchouli !  you  praise 
the  Leucadia  too  kindly — you  do  indeed — but  if  you 
really  think  so  much  of  it,  let  me  send  you  some  slips.  I 
shall  be  most  happy,  and  Fenton  will  be  only  too  proud ; 
it  is  his  favorite  seedling." 

Carruthers  was  quite  right.  One  fellow  at  least  had  lost 
his  head  after  the  beauty  of  the  season,  and  he  was  Car- 
donnel,  of  the — Lancers,  as  fine  a  fellow,  as  Philip  said, 
as  any  in  the  Queen's,  but  a  dreadful  detrimental  in  the 
eyes  of  all  chaperones,  because  he  was  but  the  fourth  son 
of  one  of  the  poorest  peers  in  the  United  Kingdom,  a  fact 


LADY    MARABOtr'S    TROUBLES.  103 

which  gave  him  an  regis  from  all  assaults  matrimo- 
nial, and  a  freedom  from  all  smiles  and  wiles,  traps  and 
gins,  whic-h  Goodwood  was  accustomed  to  tell  him  he  bit- 
terly envied  him,  and  on  which  Cardonnel  had  fervently 
congratulated  himself,  till  he  came  under  the  fire  of  the 
Hon.  Val's  large  luminous  eyes  one  night,  when  he  was 
levelling  his  glass  from  his  stall  at  Lady  Marabout's  box, 
to  take  a  look  at  the  new  belle,  as  advised  to  do  by  that 
most  fastidious  female  critic,  Vane  Steinberg.  Valencia 
Valletort's  luminous  eyes  had  gleamed  that  night  under 
their  lashes,  and  pierced  through  the  lenses  of  his  lorgnon. 
He  saw  her,  and  saw  nothing  but  her  afterwards,  as  men 
looking  on  the  sun  keep  it  on  their  retina  to  the  damage 
and  exclusion  of  all  other  objects. 

Physical  beauty,  even  when  it  is  a  little  bit  soulless,  is 
an  admirable  weapon  for  instantaneous  slaughter,  and  the 
trained  and  pruned  standard  roses  show  a  very  efiective 
mass  of  bloom  ;  though,  as  Lady  Marabout's  floral  tastes 
and  experiences  told  her,  they  don't  give  one  the  lasting 
pleasure  that  a  cai-eless  bough  of  wild  rose  will  do,  with 
its  untutored  grace  and  its  natural  fragrance.  With  the 
standard  you  see  we  keep  in  the  artificial  air  of  the  hor- 
ticultural tent,  and  are  never  touched  out  of  it  for  a  sec- 
ond ;  its  perfume  seems  akin  to  a  bouquet,  and  its  destiny 
is,  we  are  sure,  to  a  parterre.  The  wild-rose  fragrance 
breathes  of  the  hill-side  and  the  woodlands,  and  brings 
back  to  us  soft  touches  of  memory,  of  youth,  of  a  fairer 
life  and  a  purer  air  than  that  in  which  we  are  living  now. 

The  Hon.  Val  did  not  have  as  many  offers  as  her  aunt 
and  chaperone  had  on  the  first  flush  of  her  pride  in  her 
anticipated.  Young  ladies,  educated  on  the  "  best  sys- 
tems," are  apt  to  be  a  trifle  wearisome,  and  don't,  some- 
how or  other,  take  so  well  as  the  sedulous  efl^orts  of  their 
pruners  and  trainers  —  the  rarefied  moral  atmosphere  of 
the  conservatories,  in  which  tliey  are  carefully  screened 
from  ordinary  air,  and  the  anxiety  evinced  lest  the  flower 


104         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

should  ever  forget  itself,  and  sway  naturally  in  the  wind 
— deserve.  But  Cardonnel  had  gone  mad  after  her,  Ihat 
perfect  face  of  hers  had  done  for  him  ;  and  whatever  Good- 
Avood  might  be,  he  was  serious  —  he  positively  haunted  the 
young  beauty  like  her  own  shadow — he  was  leaning  on 
the  rails  every  morning  of  his  life  that  she  took  her  early 
lide — he  sent  her  bouquets  as  lavishly  as  if  he  'd  been  a 
nursery  gardener.  By  some  species  of  private  surveil- 
lance, or  lover's  clairvoyance,  he  knew  beforehand  where 
she  would  go,  and  was  at  the  concert,  fete,  morning  party, 
bazaar,  or  whatever  it  happened  to  be,  as  surely  as  was 
Lady  Marabout  herself  Poor  Cardonnel  was  serious,  and 
fiercely  fearful  of  his  all-powerful  and  entirely  eligible 
rival ;  though  greater  friends  than  he  and  Goodwood  had 
been,  before  this  girl's  face  appeared  on  the  world  of  Bel- 
gravia,  never  lounged  arm-in-arm  into  Pratt's,  or  strolled 
down  the  "  sweet  shady  side  of  Pall-Mall." 

Goodwood's  attentions  were  very  marked,  too,  even  to 
eyes  less  willing  to  construe  them  so  than  Lady  Marabout's. 
Goodwood  himself,  if  chaffed  on  the  subject,  vouchsafed 
nothing ;  laughed,  stroked  his  moustaches,  or  puffed  his 
cigar,  if  he  happened  to  have  that  blessed  resource  in  all 
difficulties,  and  comforter  under  all  embarrassments,  be- 
tween his  lips  at  the  moment ;  but  decidedly  he  sought 
Valencia  Valletort  more,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  he 
shunned  her  less  than  he  'd  ever  done  any  other  young 
lady,  and  one  or  two  Sunday  mornings — mirahile  dictu! 
—  he  was  positively  seen  at  St.  Paul's,  Knightsbridge,  in 
the  seat  behind  Lady  Marabout's  sittings.  A  fact  which, 
combining  as  it  did  a  brace  of  miracles  at  once,  of  early 
rising  and  unusual  piety,  set  every  Belgravienne  in  that 
fashionable  sanctuary  Avatching  over  the  top  of  her  illu- 
minated prayer-book,  to  the  utter  destruction  of  her  hopes 
and  interruption  of  her  orisons. 

Dowagers  began  to  tremble  behind  their  fans,  young 
ladies  to  quake  over  their  bouquets ;  the  topic  was  eagerly 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  lOu 

discussed  by  every  woman  from  Charges  Street  to  Lowndes 
Square ;  their  Graces  of  Doncaster  smiled  well  pleased  on 
Valencia  —  she  Avas  unquestionable  blood,  and  they  so 
.vished  dear  Goodwood  to  settle !  There  was  whispered  an 
awful  whisper  to  the  whole  female  world ;  whispered  over 
matutinal  chocolate,  and  luncheon  Strasbourg  p^tes,  ball- 
supper  Moets',  and  demi-monde-supper  Silleri,  over  Vane 
Steinberg's  cigar  and  Eulalie  Rosiere's  cigarette,  over  the 
Morning  Post  in  the  clubs,  and  Le  Follet  in  the  boudoir, 
that  —  the  Pet  Eligible  would  —  marry!  That  the  Pet 
Prophecy  of  universal  smash  was  going  to  be  fulfilled 
could  hardly  have  occasioned  greater  consternation. 

The  soul  of  Lady  Marabout  had  been  disquieted  ever 
since  her  son's  suggestions  at  Lady  George  Frangipane's 
morning  party,  and  she  began  t>T>  worry :  for  herself,  for 
Valencia,  for  Goodwood,  for  Cardonnel,  for  her  responsi- 
bilities in  general,  and  for  her  "dearest  Adeliza's"  alter- 
nate opinions  of  her  duenna  qualifications  in  particular. 
Lady  Marabout  had  an  intense  wish,  an  innocent  wish 
enough,  as  innocent  and  very  similar  in  its  way  to  that 
of  an  Eton  boy  to  make  a  centre  at  a  rifle-contest,  viz.,  to 
win  the  Marquis  of  Goodwood ;  innocent,  surely,  for 
though  neither  the  rifle  prize  nor  the  Pet  Eligible  could 
be  won  without  mortification  unspeakable  to  a  host  of 
unsuccessful  aspirants,  if  we  decree  that  sort  of  thing 
sinful  and  selfish,  as  everything  natural  seems  to  me  to 
get  decreed  nowadays,  we  may  as  well  shut  up  at  once ; 
if  we  may  not  try  for  the  top  of  the  pole,  why  erect  poles 
at  all,  monsieur?  If  we  must  not  do  our  best  to  pass 
our  friend  and  brother,  we  must  give  up  climbing  for- 
ever,  and  go  on  all  fours  placably  with  Don  and  Pontes. 

Everybody  has  his  ambition :  one  sighs  for  the  Wool- 
sack, another  for  the  Hunt  Cup ;  somebody  longs  to  b» 
First  Minister,  somebody  else  pines  to  be  first  dancer ;  ono 
man  plumes  himself  on  a  new  fish-sauce,  another  on  a  fresh 
reform  bill ;  A.  thirsts  to  get  a  single  brief,  B.  for  the  time 


106         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

when  he  shall  be  worried  Avith  no  briefs  at  all ;  C.  sets  his 
hopes  on  being  the  acrobat  at  Cremorne,  D.  on  being  the 
acrobat  of  the  Tuileries  ;  fat  bacon  is  Hodge  the  hedger's 
siimmum  honum,  and  Johannisberg  pur  is  mine ;  Empe- 
docles  thinks  notoriety  everything,  and  Diogenes  thinks 
quiet  everything  —  each  has  his  own  reading  of  ambition, 
and  Lady  Marabout  had  hers  ;  the  Duchess  of  Doncaster 
thirsted  for  the  Garter  for  her  husband,  Lady  Elmers's 
pride  was  to  possess  the  smallest  terrier  that  ever  took 
daisy  tea  and  was  carried  in  a  monkey-muff,  her  Grace  of 
Amandine  slaved  night  and  day  to  bring  her  party  in  and 
throw  the  ministry  out.  Lady  Marabout  sighed  but  for 
one  thing — to  win  the  Pet  Eligible  of  the  season,  and  give 
eclat  for  once  to  one  phase  of  her  chaperone's  existence. 

Things  were  nicely  in  train.  Goodwood  was  beginning 
to  bite  at  that  very  handsome  fly  the  Hon.Val,and  prom- 
ised to  be  hooked  and  landed  without  much  difficulty 
before  long,  and  placed,  hopelessly  for  him,  triumphantly 
for  her,  in  the  lime-basket  of  matrimony.  Things  were 
beautifully  in  train,  and  Lady  Marabout  was  for  once  flat- 
tering herself  she  should  float  pleasantly  through  an  un- 
ruffled and  successful  season,  when  Carruthers  poured  the 
one  drop  of  amari  aliquid  into  her  champagne-cup  by  his 
suggestion  of  Cardonnel's  doom.  And  then  Lady  ]\Iara- 
bout  began  to  worry. 

She  who  could  not  endure  to  see  a  fly  hurt  or  a  flower 
pulled  needlessly,  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  worry  for  Car 
donnel's  destiny,  and  puzzle  over  the  divided  duties  which 
Carruthers  had  hinted  to  her.  To  reject  the  one  man  be- 
cause he  was  not  'well  off  did  seem  to  her  conscience,  un- 
comfortably awakened  by  Phil's  innuendoes,  something 
more  mercenary  than  she  quite  liked  to  look  at ;  yet  to 
throw  over  the  other,  future  Duke  of  Doncaster,  the  eligi- 
ble, the  darling,  the  yearned-for  of  all  May  Fair  and  BeJ- 
gravia,  seemed  nothing  short  of  madness  to  inculcate  to 
Valencia ;  a  positive  treason  to  that  poor  absent,  ti'usting, 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  107 

••  dearest  Adeliza,"  who,  after  the  visions  epistolarily 
spread  out  before  her,  would  utterly  refuse  to  be  cumforted 
if  Goodwood  any  Avay  failed  to  become  her  son-in-law, 
and,  moreover,  the  heaviest  blow  to  Lady  Marabout  her- 
self that  the  merciless  axe  of  that  brutal  headsman  Con- 
tretemps could  deal  her. 

"  I  do  not  know  really  what  to  du  or  what  to  advise," 
would  Lady  Marabout  say  to  herself  over  and  over  again 
(so  disturbed  by  her  onerous  burden  of  responsibilities 
that  she  would  let  Despreaux  arrange  the  most  outrageous 
coift'ures,  and,  never  noticing  them,  go  out  to  dinner  with 
emeralds  on  blue  velvet,  or  something  as  shocking  to 
feminine  nerves  in  her  temporary  aberration),  forgetting 
one  very  great  point,  which,  remembered,  would  have 
saved  her  all  trouble,  that  nobody  asked  her  to  do  any- 
thing, and  not  a  soul  requested  her  advice.  "  But  Good- 
wood is  decidedly  won,  and  Goodwood  must  not  be  lust  ; 
in  our  position  we  owe  something  to  society,"  she  would 
invariably  conclude  these  mental  debates ;  which  last 
phase,  being  of  a  vagueness  and  obscure  application  that 
might  have  matched  it  with  any  Queen's  speech  or  elec- 
tioual  address  upon  record,  was  a  mysterious  balm  to 
Lady  Marabout's  soul,  and  spoke  volumes  to  her,  if  a 
trifle  hazy  to  you  and  to  me. 

But  Lady  Marabout,  if  she  was  a  little  bit  of  a  sophist, 
had  not  worn  her  eye-glass  all  these  years  without  being 
keen-sighted  on  some  subjects,  and,  though  perfectly  sat- 
isfied with  her  niece's  conduct  with  Goodwood,  saw  certain 
symptoms  which  made  her  tremble  lest  the  detrimental 
Lancer  should  have  won  greater  odds  than  the  eligible 
Marquis. 

"  Arthur  Cardonnel  is  excessively  handsome !  Such 
very  good  style!  Isn't  it  a  pity  they're  all  so  poor! 
His  father  played  away  everything — literally  everything. 
The  sons  have  no  more  to  marry  upon,  any  one  of  them, 
than  if  they  were  three  crossing-sweepers,"  said  her  lady- 


108         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

ship,  carelessly,  driving  home  from  St.  Paul's  one  Sunday 
morning. 

And,  watching  the  effect  of  her  stray  arrow,  she  had 
beheld  an  actual  flush  on  the  beauty's  fair,  impassive 
cheek,  and  had  positively  heard  a  smothered  sigh  from 
an  admirably  brought-up  heart,  no  more  given  ordinarily 
to  such  weaknesses  than  the  diamond-studded  heart  pen- 
dent from  her  bracelet,  the  belle's  heart  and  the  bracelet's 
aeai't  being  both  formed  alike,  to  fetch  their  price,  apd 
Did  10  do  no  more:  —  power  of  volition  would  have  been 
as  inconvenient  in,  and  interfered  as  greatly  with,  the 
sale  of  one  as  of  the  other. 

"  She  does  like  him  ! "  sighed  Lady  Marabout  over  that 
Sabbath's  luncheon  wines.  "It's  always  my  fate — ■ 
always  ;  and  Goodwood,  never  won  before,  will  be  thrown 
— actually  thrown — away,  as  if  he  were  the  younger  son 
of  a  Nobody ! "  which  horrible  waste  was  so  terrible  to 
her  imagination  that  Lady  Marabout  could  positively 
have  shed  tears  at  the  bare  prospect,  and  might  have  shed 
them,  too,  if  the  Hon.  Val,  the  butler,  two  footmen,  and 
a  page  had  not  inconveniently  happened  to  be  in  the  room 
at  the  time,  so  that  she  was  driven  to  restrain  her  feelings 
and  drink  some  Amontillado  instead.  Lady  Marabout 
is  not  the  first  j^erson  by  a  good  many  who  has  had  to 
smile  over  sherry  with  a  breaking  heart.  Ah  !  lips  have 
quivered  as  they  laughed  over  Chambertin,  and  trembled 
as  they  touched  the  bowl  of  a  champagne-glass.  Wine 
has  assisted  at  many  a  joyous  festa  enough,  but  some  that 
has  been  drunk  in  gayety  has  caught  gleams,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  drinkers,  of  salt  water  brighter  than  its 
brightest  sparkles :  water  that  no  other  eyes  can  see. 
Because  we  may  drink  Badminton  laughingly  when  the 
gaze  of  Society  the  Non-Sympathetic  is  on  us,  do  you 
think  we  must  never  have  tasted  any  more  bitter  dregs? 
Va-t'en,  becasse  !  where  have  you  lived  ?  Nero  does  not 
always  fiddle  while  Rome  is  burning  from  utter  heartless- 


iiADY  marabout's  troubles.  109 

ness,  believe  me,  but  rather  —  sometimes,  perhaps — bo- 
cause  his  heart  is  aching ! 

"  Goodwoo''  viJ.  propose  to-night,  I  fancy,  he  is  so 
very  attentive,"  thought  Lady  Marabout,  sitting  with  her 
sister  chaperones  on  the  cosy  causeuses  of  a  mansion  in 
Carlton  Terrace,  at  one  of  the  last  balls  of  the  departing 
season.     "  I   never   saw  dear  Valencia  look  better,  and 

certainly  her  waltzing  is Ah!  good  evening.  Major 

Cardonnel !  Very  warm  to-night,  is  it  not  ?  I  shall  be 
so  glad  when  I  am  down  again  at  Fernditton.  Town,  in 
the  first  week  of  July,  is  really  not  habitable." 

And  she  furled  her  fan,  and  smiled  on  him  with  her 
pleasant  eyes,  and  couldn't  help  wishing  he  hadn't  been 
on  the  Marchioness  Rondeletia's  visiting  list,  he  was  such 
a  detrimental,  and  he  Avas  ten  times  handsomer  than 
Goodwood  ! 

"  Will  Miss  Valletort  leave  you  soon?"  asked  Cardon- 
nel,  sitting  down  by  her. 

^'Ah!  monsieur,  vous  etes  Id  !  "  thought  Lady  Marabout, 
as  she  answered,  like  a  guarded  diplomatist  as  she  was, 
that  it  was  not  all  settled  at  present  what  her  niece's  post- 
season destiny  would  be,  whether  Devon  or  Fernditton,  or 
the  Spas,  with  her  mother.  Lady  Honiton  ;  and  then 
unfurled  her  fan  again,  and  chatted  about  Baden  and  her 
own  indecision  as  to  whether  she  should  go  there  this 
September. 

"  May  I  ask  you  a  question,  and  will  you  pardon  me 
for  its  plainness  ?  "  asked  Cardonnel,  when  she'd  exhausted 
Baden's  desirable  and  non-desirable  points. 

Lady  Marabout  shuddered  as  she  bent  her  head,  and 
thought,  "The  creature  is  never  going  to  confide  in  mel 
He  will  win  me  over  if  he  do,  he  looks  so  like  his  mother  I 
And  what  shall  I  say  to  Adeliza ! " 

"  Is  your  niece  engaged  to  Goodwood  or  not?" 

If  ever  a  little  fib  was  tempting  to  any  lady,  from  Eve 
rfownward,  it  was  tempting  to  Lady  Marabout  now  1  A 
10 


110  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

falseliood  would  settle  everything,  send  Cardonnel  off  the 
field,  and  clear  all  possibility  of  losing  the  "  best  match 
of  the  season."  Besides,  if  not  engaged  to  Goodwood 
actually  to-night,  Val  would  be,  if  she  liked,  to-morrow, 
or  the  next  day,  or  before  the  week  was  over  at  the  fur- 
thest— would  it  be  such  a  falsehood  after  all  ?  She  colored, 
she  fidgeted  her  fan,  she  longed  for  the  little  fib  ! — how 
terribly  tempting  it  looked !  But  Lady  Marabout  is  a 
bad  hand  at  prevarication,  and  she  hates  a  lie,  and  she 
answered  bravely,  with  a  regretful  twinge,  "  Engaged  ? 
No;  not " 

"Not  yet!     Thank  God!" 

Lady  Marabout  stared  at  him  and  at  the  words  mut- 
tered under  his  moustaches : 

"Really,  Major  Cardonnel,  I  do  not  see  why  you " 

"Should  thank  Heaven  for  it?  Yet  I  do — it  is  a  re- 
prieve. Lady  Marabout,  you  and  my  mother  were  close 
friends ;  will  you  listen  to  me  for  a  second,  while  we  are 
not  overheard?  That  I  have  loved  your  niece — had  the 
madness  to  love  her,  if  you  will — you  cannot  but  have 
seen  ;  that  she  has  given  me  some  reasonable  encourage- 
ment it  is  no  coxcombry  to  say,  though  I  have  known 
from  the  first  what  a  powerful  rival  I  had  against  me ; 
but  that  Valencia  loves  me  and  does  not  love  him,  I  be- 
lieve—  nay,  I  know.  I  have  said  nothing  decided  to  her; 
when  all  hangs  on  a  single  die  we  shrink  from  hazarding 
the  throw.  But  I  must  know  my  fate  to-night.  If  she 
come  to  you  —  as  girls  will,  I  believe,  sometimes — for 
countenance  and  counsel,  will  you  stand  my  friend?  — 
will  yon,  for  the  sake  of  my  friendship  with  your  son, 
your  friendship  with  my  mother,  support  my  cause,  and 
uphold  what  I  believe  Valencia's  heart  will  say  in  my 
favor?" 

Lady  Marabout  was  silent :  no  Andalusian  ever  wor- 
ried her  fim  more  ceaselessly  in  coquetry  than  she  did  in 


uADY    MARABOUT'S    TROUBLES.  Ill 

perplexity.  Her  heart  was  appealed  to,  and  when  that 
was  enlisted,  Lady  Marabout  was  lost ! 

"But — but — ray    dear    Major    Cardonnel,  you   are 

aware "  she  began,  and  stopped.     I  should  suppose 

it  may  be  a  little  awkward  to  tell  a  man  to  his  face  he  is 
"  not  desirable !" 

"  I  am  aware  that  I  cannot  match  with  Goodwood  ?  I 
am  ;  but  I  know,  also,  that  Goodwood's  love  cannot  match 
with  mine,  and  that  your  niece's  affection  is  not  his.  That 
he  may  win  her  I  know  women  too  well  not  to  fear,  there- 
fore I  ask  you  to  be  my  friend.  If  she  refuse  me,  will 
you  plead  for  me? — if  she  ask  for  counsel,  will  you  givo 
such  as  your  own  heart  dictates  (I  ask  no  other) — and, 
Avill  you  remember  that  on  Valencia's  answer  will  rest 
the  fate  of  a  man's  lifetime?" 

He  rose  and  left  her,  but  the  sound  of  his  voice  rang 
in  Lady  Marabout's  ears,  and  the  tears  welled  into  her 
eyes :  "  Dear,  dear !  how  like  he  looked  to  his  poor  dear 
mother !  But  what  a  position  to  place  me  in !  Am  I 
never  to  have  any  peace?" 

Not  at  this  ball,  at  any  rate.  Of  all  the  worried  chape- 
rones  and  distracted  duennas  who  hid  their  anxieties 
under  pleasant  smiles  or  affable  lethargy,  none  were  a 
quarter  so  miserable  as  Helena,  Lady  Marabout.  Her 
heart  and  her  head  were  enlisted  on  opposite  sides ;  her 
wishes  pulled  one  way,  her  sympathies  another ;  her  sense 
of  justice  to  Cardonnel  urged  her  to  one  side,  her  sense 
of  duty  to  "dearest  Adeliza"  urged  her  to  the  other; 
her  pride  longed  for  one  alliance,  her  heart  yearned  for 
the  other.  Cardonnel  had  confided  in  her  and  appealed 
to  her  ;  sequitur,  Lady  Marabout's  honor  would  not  allow 
her  to  go  against  him  :  yet,  it  was  nothing  short  of  gross- 
est treachery  to  poor  Adeliza,  down  there  in  Devon,  ex- 
pecting every  day  to  congratulate  her  daughter  on  a 
prospective  duchy  won,  to  counsel  Valencia  to  take  one 


112  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

of  these  beggared  Cardonnels,  and,  besides — to  lose  all 
her  own  laurels,  to  lose  the  capture  of  Goodwood ! 

No  Guelphs  and  Ghibelins,  no  Royalists  and  Imperial- 
ists, ever  fought  so  hard  as  Lady  Marabout's  divided 
duties. 

"Valencia,  Major  Cardonnel  spoke  to  me  to-night," 
began  that  best-hearted  and  most  badgered  of  ladies,  as 
she  sat  before  her  dressing-room  fire  that  night,  alone 
with  her  niece. 

Valencia  smiled  slightly,  and  a  faint  idea  crossed  Lady 
Marabout's  mind  that  Valencia's  smile  was  hardly  a 
pleasant  one,  a  trifle  too  much  like  the  play  of  moon- 
beams on  ice. 

•*  He  spoke  to  me  about  you." 

"Lideed!" 

•'Perhaps  you  can  guess,  my  dear,  what  he  said?" 

"  I  am  no  clairvoyante,  aunt ; "  and  Miss  Val  yawned 
a  little,  and  held  out  one  of  her  long  slender  feet  to  ad- 
mire it. 

•'  Every  woman,  my  love,  becomes  half  a  clairvoyante 
when  she  is  in  love,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  a  little  bit 
impatiently ;  she  had  n't  been  brought  up  on  the  best 
systems  herself,  and  though  she  admired  the  refrigera- 
tion (on  principle),  it  irritated  her  just  a  little  now  and 
then.     "Did  he  —  did  he  say  anything  to  you  to-night?" 

"  Oh  yes !" 

"And  what  did  you  answer  him,  my  love?" 

"  What  would  you  advise  me?" 

Lady  Marabout  sighed,  coughed,  played  nervously  with 
the  tassels  of  her  peignoir,  crumpled  Bijou's  ears  with  a 
reckless  disregard  to  that  })riceless  pet's  feelings,  and 
wished  herself  at  the  bottom  of  the  Serpentine.  Car- 
donnel had  trusted  her,  she  couldn't  desert  hivi;  poor 
dear  Adeliza  had  trusted  her,  she  could  n't  betray  Aer; 
what  was  right  to  one  would  be  wrong  to  the  other,  and 
to  reconcile  her   divided  duties  was  a  Danaid's  labor. 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         113 

For  months  she  had  worried  her  life  out  lest  her  advice 
should  be  asked,  and  now  the  climax  Avas  come,  and 
asked  it  was. 

"  What  a  horrible  position  ! "  thought  Lady  Marabout. 

She  waited  and  hesitated  till  the  pendule  had  ticked 
off'  sixty  seconds,  then  she  summoned  her  courage  and 
spoke : 

"  My  dear,  advice  in  such  matters  is  often  very  harm- 
ful, and  always  very  useless;  plenty  of  people  have  asked 
my  counsel,  but  I  never  knew  any  of  them  take  it  unless 
it  chanced  to  chime  in  with  their  fancy.  A  woman's  best 
adviser  is  her  own  heart,  specially  on  such  a  subject  as 
this.  But  before  I  give  my  opinion,  may  I  ask  if  you 
have  accepted  him?" 

Lady  Marabout's  heart  throbbed  quick  and  fast  as  sh« 
put  the  momentous  question,  with  an  agitation  for  which 
she  would  have  blushed  before  her  admirably  nouchalante 
niece ;  but  the  tug  of  war  was  coming,  and  if  Goodwood 
should  be  lost ! 

*'  You  have  accepted  him  ?"  she  asked  again. 

"  No  !     I — refused  him." 

The  delicate  rose  went  out  of  the  Hon.  Val's  cheeks 
for  once,  and  she  breathed  quickly  and  shortly. 

Goodwood  was  not  lost  then  ! 

Was  she  sorry — was  she  glad?  Lady  Marabout  hardly 
knew ;  like  Wellington,  she  felt  the  next  saddest  thing 
after  a  defeat  is  a  victory. 

"  But  you  love  him,  Valencia?  "  she  asked,  half  ashamed 
of  suggesting  such  weakness,  to  this  glorious  beauty. 

The  Hon.  Val  unclasped  her  necklet  as  if  it  were  a 
chain,  choking  her,  and  her  face  grew  white  and  set :  the 
coldest  will  feel  on  occasion,  and  all  have  some  tender 
place  that  can  wince  at  the  touch. 

"  Perhaps ;  but  such  folly  is  best  put  aside  at  once.    Cer- 
tainly I  prefer  him  to  others,  but  to  accept  him  would 
have  been  madness,  absurdity.     I  told  him  so!" 
lu*  li 


114         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

"  You  told  him  so !  If  you  had  the  heart  to  do  so, 
Valencia,  he  has  not  lost  much  in  losing  you  ! "  burst  in 
Lady  Marabout,  her  indignation  getting  the  better  of  her 
judgment,  and  her  heart,  as  usual,  giving  the  coup  de 
grace  to  her  reason.  "  I  am  shocked  at  you !  Every 
tender-hearted  woman  feels  regret  for  affection  she  is 
obliged  to  repulse,  even  when  she  does  not  return  it ;  and 
you,  who  love  this  man " 

"  Would  you  have  had  me  accept  him,  aunt  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Lady  Marabout,  firmly,  forgetting  every 
vestige  of  "  duty,"  and  every  jiossibility  of  dear  Adeliza's 
vengeance,  "  if  you  love  him,  I  would,  decidedly.  When 
I  married  my  dear  Philip's  father,  he  was  what  Cardonnel 
is,  a  cavalry  man,  as  far  off  his  family  title  then  as  Car- 
donnel is  off  his  now." 

"  The  more  reason  I  should  not  imitate  your  impru- 
dence, my  dear  aunt ;  death  might  not  carry  off  the  in- 
termediate heirs  quite  so  courteously  in  this  case !  No,  I 
refused  Major  Cardonnel,  and  I  did  rightly ;  I  should 
have  repented  it  by  now  had  I  accepted  him.  There  is 
nothing  more  silly  than  to  be  led  away  by  romance.  You 
De  Boncoeurs  are  romantic,  you  know ;  we  Valletorts  are 
happily  free  from  the  weakness.  I  am  very  tired,  aunt, 
so  good  night." 

The  Hon.  Val  went,  the  waxlight  she  carried  shedding 
a  paler  shade  on  her  handsome  face,  whiter  and  more 
set  than  usual,  but  held  more  proudly,  as  if  it  already 
wore  the  Doncaster  coronet ;  and  Lady  Marabout  sighed 
as  she  rang  for  her  maid. 

"  Of  course  she  acted  wisely,  and  I  ought  to  be  very 
pleased  ;  but  that  poor  dear  fellow ! — his  eyes  are  so  like 
his  mother's ! " 

"I  congratulate  you,  mother,  on  a  clear  field.  You've 
Bent  poor  Arthur  off  very  nicely,"  said  Carruthcj's,  the 
next  morning,  paying  his  general  visit  in  her  boudoir  be- 
fore the  day  began,  which  is  much  the  same  time  in  Towu 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         115 

as  in  Greenland,  and  commences,  whatever  almanacs 
may  say,  about  two  or  half-past  I'.M.  "  Cardonnel  left 
this  morning  for  Heaven  knows  where,  and  is  going  to 
exchange,  Shelleto  tells  me,  into  the  — th,  which  is  ordered 
to  Bengal,  so  he  won't  trouble  you  much  more.  When 
shall  I  be  allowed  to  congratulate  my  cousin  as  the  future 
Duchess  of  Doncaster?" 

"  Pray,  don't  tease  me,  Philip.  I  've  been  vexed  enough 
about  your  friend.  When  he  came  to  me  this  morning, 
and  asked  me  if  there  was  no  hope,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
tell  him  there  was  none,  I  felt  wretched,"  said  Lady  Mar- 
about, as  nearly  pettishly  as  she  ever  said  anything  ;  "but 
I  am  really  not  responsible,  not  in  the  least.  Besides, 
even  you  must  admit  that  Goodwood  is  a  much  more 
desirable  alliance,  and  if  Valencia  had  accepted  Cardon- 
nel, pray  what  would  all  Belgravia  have  said  ?  Why, 
that,  disappointed  of  Goodwood,  she  took  the  other  out  of 
pure  pique !  We  owe  something  to  society,  Philip,  and 
Homething  to  ourselves." 

Carruthers  laughed  : 

"Ah,  my  dear  mother,  you  women  will  never  be  worth 
all  you  ought  to  be  till  you  leave  off  kowtow-ing  to  '  what 
will  be  said,'  and  learn  to  defy  that  terrible  oligarchy  of 
the  Qu'en  dira-t-on?" 

"When  Avill  Goodwood  propose?"  wondered  Lady 
Marabout,  fifty  times  a  day,  and  Valencia  Valletort 
wondered  too.  Whitebait  was  being  eaten,  and  yachts 
being  fitted,  manned,  and  victualled,  outstanding  Ascot 
debts  were  being  settled,  and  outstanding  bills  were  being 
passed  hurriedly  through  St.  Stephen's  ;  all  the  cIockA\oik 
of  the  season  Avas  being  wound  up  for  the  last  time  \)vq- 
vious  to  a  long  standstill,  and  going  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace, 
as  if  longing  to  run  down,  and  give  its  million  wheels 
and  levers  peace;  while  everybody  who'd  anything  to 
settle,  whether  monetary  or  matriinoiiial,  personal  or 
political,  was  making  up  his  mind  about  it  and  getting  it 


116  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

off  his  hands,  and  some  men  were  being  pulled  up  by 
wide-awake  Jews  to  see  what  they  were  "  made  of,"  while 
others  were  pulled  up  by  adroit  dowagers  to  know  what 
they  had  "  meant"  before  the  accounts  of  the  season  were 
scored  out  and  settled.  "Had  Goodwood  proposed?" 
asked  all  Belgravia.  "  Why  had  n't  Goodwood  pro- 
posed?" asked  Lady  Marabout  and  Valencia.  Twenty 
most  favorable  opportunities  for  the  performance  of  that 
ceremony  had  Lady  Marabout  made  for  him  "  acciden- 
tally on  purpose"  the  last  fortnight;  each  of  those  times 
she  had  fancied  the  precious  fish  hooked  and  landed,  and 
each  time  she  had  seen  him,  free  from  the  hook,  floating 
on  the  surface  of  society. 

"  He  must  speak  definitely  to-morrow,"  thought  Lady 
Marabout.  But  the  larvae  of  to-morrow  burst  into  the 
butterfly  of  to-day,  and  to-day  passed  into  the  chrysalis 
«f  yesterday,  and  Goodwood  was  always  very  nearly 
caught,  and  never  quite  ! 

"Come  up-stairs,  Philip;  I  want  to  show  you  a  little 
Paul  Potter  I  bought  the  other  day,"  said  Lady  Mara- 
bout one  morning,  returning  from  a  shopping  expedition 
to  Regent  Street,  meeting  her  son  at  her  own  door  just 
descending  from  his  tilbury.  "  Lord  Goodwood  calling, 
did  you  say,  Soames  ?     Oh,  very  well." 

And  Lady  Marabout  floated  up  the  staircase,  but 
signed  to  her  footman  to  open  the  door,  not  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, but  of  her  own  boudoir. 

"The  Potter  is  in  my  own  room,  Philip;  you  must 
come  in  here  if  you  wish  to  see  it,"  said  that  adroit  lady, 
for  the  benefit  of  Soames.  But  when  the  door  was  shut, 
Lady  Marabout  lowered  her  voice  confidentially  :  "  The 
Potter  is  n't  here,  dear ;  I  had  it  hung  in  the  little  cab- 
inet through  the  drawing-rooms,  but  I  don't  wish  to  go 
ip  there  for  a  few  moments — you  understand." 

Carruthers  threw  himself  in  a  chair,  and  laughed  till 
.'.e  dogs  Bijou,  Bonbon,  and  Paudore  all  barked  in  a 
furious  concert. 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  1'* 

"  I  understand  !  So  Goody 's  positively  coming  to  th. 
point  lip  there,  is  he?" 

"  No  doubt  he  is,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  reprovingly. 
"  Why  else  should  he  come  in  when  I  was  not  at  home? 
There  is  nothing  extraordinary  in  it.  The  only  thing  I 
have  wondered  at  is  his  having  delayed  so  long." 

"  If  a  man  had  to  hang  himself,  would  you  wonder  he 
put  off  pulling  the  bolt?" 

"  I  don't  see  any  point  in  your  jests  at  all ! "  returned 
Lady  Marabout.  "  There  is  nothing  ridiculous  in  win- 
ning such  a  girl  as  Valencia." 

"  No  ;  but  the  question  here  is  not  of  winning  her,  but 
of  buying  her.  The  price  is  a  little  high  —  a  ducal  cor- 
onet and  splendid  settlements,  a  wedding-ring  and  bond- 
age for  life ;  but  he  will  buy  her,  nevertheless.  Cardonnel 
could  n't  pay  the  first  half  of  the  price,  and  so  he  was 
swept  out  of  the  auction-room.  You  are  shocked,  mother  T 
Ah,  truth  is  shocking  sometimes,  and  always  maladroit ; 
one  oughtn't  to  bring  it  into  ladies'  boudoirs." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Philip !  I  will  not  have  you  so 
satirical.  Where  do  you  take  it  from  ?  Not  from  me,  I 
am  sure !  Hark !  there  is  Goodwood  going !  That  is  his 
step  on  the  stairs,  I  think !  Dear  me,  Philip,  I  wish  you 
sympathized  with  me  a  little  more,  for  I  do  feel  happy, 
and  I  can't  help  it ;  dear  Adeliza  will  be  so  gratified." 

"  My  dear  mother,  I  '11  do  my  best  to  be  sympathetic,, 
I  '11  go  and  congratulate  Goodwood  as  he  gets  in  his  cab, 
if  you  fancy  I  ought ;  but,  you  see,  if  I  were  in  Dahomey 
beholding  the  head  of  my  best  friend  coming  off,  I 
could  n't  quite  get  up  the  amount  of  sympathy  in  their 
pleasure  at  the  refreshing  sight  the  Dahomites  might 
expect  from  me,  and  so " 

But  Lady  Marabout  missed  the  comparison  of  herself 
to  a  Dahomite,  for  she  had  opened  the  door  and  was 
crossing  to  the  drawing-rooms,  her  eyes  bright,  her  step 
clastic,  her  heart  exultant  at  the  triumph  of  her  manoiu- 


118  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

vres.  The  Hon.  Val  was  playing  Avith  some  ferns  in  an 
etag^re  at  the  bottom  of  the  farthest  room,  and  responded 
to  the  kiss  her  aunt  bestowed  on  her  about  as  much  as  if 
she  had  been  one  of  the  statuettes  on  the  consoles. 

"Well,  love,  what  did  he  say f"  asked  Lady  Mara- 
bout, breathlessly,  with  eager  delight  and  confident 
anticipation. 

Like  drops  of  ice  on  warm  rose-leaves  fell  each  word 
of  the  intensely  chill  and  slightly  sulky  response  on  Lady 
Marabout's  heart. 

"  He  said  that  he  goes  to  Cowes  to-morrow  for  the 
Royal  Yacht  Squadron  dinner,  and  then  on  in  the  Ana- 
dyomene  to  the  Spitzbergen  coast  for  walruses.  He  left  a 
P.  P.  C.  card  for  you." 

"  Wabnises/"  shrieked  Lady  Marabout. 

"  Walruses,"  responded  the  Hon.  Val. 

"And  said  no  more  than  that?" 

"  No  more  than  that ! " 

The  Pet  Eligible  had  flown  off  uncaught  after  all! 
Lady  Marabout  needed  no  further  explanation  —  tout  fut 
dit.  They  were  both  silent  and  paralyzed.  Do  you  sup- 
pose Pompey  and  Cornelia  had  much  need  of  words  when 
they  met  at  Lesbos  after  the  horrible  deroute  of  Pharsalia  ? 

"  I  'm  in  your  mother's  blackest  books  for  ever,  Phil," 
8aid  Goodwood  to  Carruthers  in  the  express  to  Southamp- 
ton for  the  R.  Y.  C.  Squadron  Regatta  of  that  year,  "  but 
I  can't  help  it.  It 's  no  good  to  badger  us  into  marriage; 
it  only  makes  us  double,  and  run  to  earth.  I  was  near 
compromising  myself  with  your  cousin,  I  grant,  but  the 
thing  that  chilled  me  was,  she 's  too  studied.  It 's  all  got 
up  beforehand,  and  goes  upon  clockwork,  and  it  don't 
interest  one  accordingly ;  the  mechanism's  perfect,  but  we 
know  when  it  will  raise  its  hand,  and  move  its  eyes,  and 
bow  its  head,  and  when  we  've  looked  at  its  beauty  once 
we  get  tired  of  it.    That 's  the  fault  in  Valencia,  and  in 


1>ADY     MARAIiOUT'S    TROUBLES.  119 

.scores  of  them,  and  as  long  as  they  wo7i''t  be  natural,  why, 
they  can't  have  much  chance  with  us ! " 

Which  piece  of  advice  Carruthers,  when  he  next  saw 
his  mother,  r>ipeated  to  her,  for  the  edification  of  all  future 
debutantes,  adding  a  small  sermon  of  his  own : 

"  My  dear  mother,  I  ask  you,  is  it  to  be  expected  that 
we  can  marry  just  to  oblige  women  and  please  the  news- 
papers? Would  you  have  me  marched  off  to  Hanover 
iSquare  because  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  take  one  of  Lady 
Elmers'  marriageable  daughters,  or  because  a  leading 
journal  fills  up  an  empty  column  with  farcical  lamenta- 
tion on  our  dislike  to  the  bondage?  Of  course  you 
would  n't ;  yet,  for  no  better  reasons,  you  'd  have  chained 
poor  Goodwood,  if  you  could  have  caught  him.  Whether 
a  man  likes  to  marry  or  not  is  certainly  his  own  private 
business,  though  just  now  it's  made  a  popular  public  dis- 
cussion. Do  you  wonder  that  we  shirk  the  institution  ? 
If  we  have  not  fortune,  marriage  cramps  our  energies, 
our  resources,  our  ambitions,  loads  us  with  petty  cares, 
and  trebles  our  anxieties.  To  one  who  rises  with  such  a 
burden  on  his  shoulders,  how  many  sink  down  in  ob- 
scurity, who,  but  for  the  leaden  weight  of  pecuniary  diffi- 
culties with  which  marriage  has  laden  their  feet,  might 
have  climbed  the  highest  round  in  the  social  ladder  ?  On 
the  other  side,  if  we  have  fortune,  if  we  have  the  unhappy 
happiness  to  be  eligible,  is  it  wonderful  that  we  are  not 
flattered  by  the  worship  of  young  ladies  who  love  us  for 
what  we  shall  give  them,  that  we  don't  feel  exactly  hon- 
ored by  being  courted  for  what  we  are  worth,  and  that 
we  're  not  over-willing  to  give  up  our  liberty  to  oblige 
those  who  look  on  us  only  as  good  speculations  ?  What 
think  you,  eh?" 

Lady  Marabout  looked  up  and  shook  her  head  mourn- 
fully: 

"  My  dear  Philip,  you  are  right.     I  see  it — I  don't  dis- 
pute it ;  but  when  a  thing  becomes  personal,  you  know 


120         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES, 

philosophy  becomes  difficult.  I  have  such  letters  from 
poor  dear  Adeliza — such  letters!  Of  course  she  thinks 
it  is  all  my  fault,  and  I  believe  she  will  break  entirely 
with  me.  It  is  so  very  shocking.  You  see  all  Belgravia 
coupled  their  names,  and  the  very  day  that  he  went  off 
to  Cowes  in  that  heartless,  abominable  manner,  if  au 
announcement  of  the  alliance  as  arranged  did  not  posi- 
tively appear  in  the  Court  Circidar !  It  did  indeed !  1 
am  sure  Anne  Hautton  was  at  the  bottom  of  it ;  it  would 
be  just  like  her.  Perhaps  poor  Valencia  cannot  be 
pitied  after  her  treatment  of  Cardonnel,  but  it  is  very  hard 
on  me." 

Lady  Marabout  is  right :  when  a  thing  becomes  per- 
sonal, philosophy  becomes  difficult.  When  your  gun 
misses  fire,  and  a  fine  cock  bird  Avhirrs  up  from  the  covert 
and  takes  wing  unharmed,  never  to  swell  the  number  of 
your  triumphs  and  the  size  of  your  game-bag,  could  you 
by  any  chance  find  it  in  your  soul  to  sympathize  with  the 
bird's  gratification  at  your  mortification  and  its  own  good 
luck  ?     I  fancy  not. 


|^^^K3 

'^^M 

^^^^^'^^ 

^^^^ 

^fj&^S^ 

^ts 

fc^^^^p^K 

^^^^3 

^^^^m3 

C^S 

^^^^^^ 

ft^^^ 

LADY  MARABOUT'S  TROUBLES; 

OR, 

THE  WORRIES  OF  A  CHAPERONE. 


IN  THREE  SEASONS. 
SEASON   THE   SECOND. THE   OGRE. 

F  there  be  one  class  I  dislike  more  than  another, 
it  is  that  class ;  and  if  there  be  one  person  in 
town  I  utterly  detest,  it  is  that  man ! "  said  oin.' 
friend  Lady  Marabout,  with  much  unction,  one  morning, 
to  an  audience  consisting  of  Bijou,  Bonbon,  and  Pandore, 
a  cockatoo,  an  Angora  cat,  and  a  young  lady  sitting  in  a 
rocking-chair,  reading  the  magazines  of  the  month.  The 
dogs  barked,  the  cockatoo  screamed,  the  cat  purred,  a 
vehement  affirmative,  the  human  auditor  looked  up,  and 
laughed : 

"  What  is  the  class,  Lady  Marabout,  may  I  ask?" 
"  Those  clever,  detestable,  idle,  good-for-nothing,  fash- 
ionable, worthless  men  about  town,  who  have  not  a  penny 
to  their  fortune,  and  spend  a  thousand  a  year  on  gloves 
and  scented  tobacco  —  who  are  seen  at  everybody's  house, 
and  never  at  their  own — who  drive  horses  fit  for  a  Duke's 
stud,  and  have  n't  money  enough  to  keep  a  donkey  on 
thistles — who  have  handsome  faces  and  brazen  consciences 
—  who  are  positively  leaders  of  ton,  and  yet  are  glad  to 
write  feuillctons  before  the  world  is  uj)  to  pay  tlieir  stall 


X22  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

at  the  Opera — who  give  a  guinea  for  a  bouquet,  and 
can't  pay  a  shilling  of  their  just  debts,  —  I  detest  the 
class,  ray  dear  ! " 

"  So  it  seems,  Lady  Marabout.  I  never  heard  you  so 
vehement.  And  who  is  the  particular  scapegoat  of  this 
type  of  sinners  ?  " 

"  Chandos  Cheveley." 

"  Chandos  Cheveley?  Is  n't  he  that  magnificent  man 
Sir  Philip  introduced  to  me  at  the  Amandines'  breakfast 
yesterday?  Why,  Lady  Marabout,  his  figure  alone 
might  outbalance  a  multitude  of  sins ! " 

"  He  is  handsome  enough.  Did  Philip  introduce  him 
to  you,  my  dear  ?  I  wonder !  It  was  very  careless  of  him. 
But  men  are  so  thoughtless ;  they  will  know  anybody 
themselves,  and  they  think  we  may  do  the  same.  The 
men  called  here  while  we  were  driving  this  morning.  I 
am  glad  we  were  out :  he  very  seldom  comes  to  my  house." 

"  But  why  is  he  so  dreadful  ?  The  Amandines  are  tre- 
mendously exclusive,  I  thought." 

"  Oh,  he  goes  everywhere  !  No  party  is  comi:)lete  with- 
out Chandos  Cheveley,  and  I  have  heard  that  at  Septem- 
ber or  Christmas  he  has  more  invitations  than  he  could 
possibly  accept;  but  he  is  a  most  objectionable  man,  all 
the  same — a  man  every  one  dreads  to  see  come  near  her 
daughters.  He  has  extreme  fascination  of  manner,  but 
he  has  not  a  farthing !  How  he  lives,  dresses,  drives  the 
liorses  he  does,  is  one  of  those  miracles  of  London  men's 
lives  which  we  can  never  hope  to  puzzle  out.  Philip  says 
he  likes  him,  but  Philip  never  speaks  ill  of  anybody,  ex- 
cept a  woman  now  and  then,  who  teases  him  ;  but  the 
man  is  my  detestation — has  been  for  years.  I  was  an- 
noyed to  see  his  card :  it  is  the  first  time  he  has  called 
this  season.     He  knows  I  can't  endure  his  class  or  him." 

With  which  Lady  Marabout  wound  up  a  very  unusu- 
ally lengthy  and  uncharitable  disquisition,  length  and 
uncharitableness  being  both  out  of  her  line;  and  Lady 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         123 

Cecil  Ormsby  rolled  lier  handkerchief  into  a  ball,  threw 
it  across  the  room  for  Bonbon,  the  spaniel  puppy,  and 
laughed  till  the  cockatoo  screamed  with  delight : 

"Dear  Lady  Marabout,  do  forgive  me,  but  it  is  such 
fun  to  hear  you  positively,  for  once,  malicious!  Who  is 
your  Horror,  genealogically  speaking?  this  terrible — 
vhat's  his  name? — Chandos  Cheveley?" 

"The  younger  son  of  a  younger  son  of  one  of  the  Mar- 
quises of  Danvers,  I  believe,  my  dear ;  an  idle  man  about 
town,  you  know,  with  not  a  sou  to  be  idle  upon,  who  sets 
the  fashion,  but  never  pays  his  tailox'.  I  am  never  mali- 
cious, I  hope,  but  I  do  consider  men  of  that  stamp  very 
objectionable." 

"  But  what  is  Sir  Philip  but  a  man  about  town?" 

"  My  son !  Of  course  he  is  a  man  about  town.  My 
dear,  what  else  should  he  be?  But  if  Philip  likes  to 
lounge  all  his  days  away  in  a  club-window,  he  has  a  per- 
fect right;  he  has  fortune.  Chandos  Cheveley  is  not 
worth  a  farthing,  and  yet  yawns  away  his  day  in  White's 
as  if  he  were  a  millionnaire ;  the  one  can  support  his  far 
niente,  the  other  cannot.  There  are  gradations  in  every- 
thing, my  love,  but  in  nothing  more  than  among  the  men, 
of  the  same  set  and  the  same  style,  whom  one  sees  in 
Pali-Mall." 

"  There  are  chestnut  horses  and  horse-chestnuts,  cheva- 
liers and  chevaliers  d'industrie,  rois  and  rois  d'Yvetot, 
Carrutherses  and  Chandos  Cheveleys ! "  laughed  Lady 
Cecil.  "  I  understand.  Lady  Marabout.  II  y  a  femmcs 
et  femraes — men  about  town  and  men  about  town.  I 
shall  learn  all  the  classes  and  distinctions  soon.  But  how 
is  one  to  know  the  sheep  that  may  be  let  into  the  fold 
from  the  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing,  that  must  be  ke])t 
out  of  it?  Your  Ogre  is  really  very  distinguished- 
looking." 

"Distinguished?  Oh  yes,  my  love;  but  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  arc  the  most  objectionable  sometimes.     I 


124  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

assure  you,  my  dear  Cecil,  I  have  seen  an  elder  son  whom 
sometimes  I  could  hardly  have  told  from  his  own  valet, 
and  a  younger  of  the  same  family  with  the  style  of  a 
D'Orsay.  Why,  did  I  not  this  very  winter,  when  I  went 
to  stay  at  Rochdale,  take  Fitzbreguet  himself,  whom  I 
had  not  chanced  to  see  since  he  was  a  child,  for  one  of 
the  men  out  of  livery,  and  bid  him  bring  Bijou's  basket 
out  of  the  carriage.  I  did  indeed — I  who  hate  such 
mistakes  more  than  any  one !  And  Lionel,  his  second 
brother,  has  the  beauty  of  an  Apollo  and  the  air  noble  to 
perfection.  One  often  sees  it ;  it 's  through  the  doctrine 
of  compensation,  I  suppose,  but  it 's  very  perplexing,  and 
causes  endless  evibroidllements.'' 

"  When  the  mammas  fall  in  love  with  Lord  Fitz's 
coronet,  and  the  daughters  with  Lord  Lionel's  face,  I 
suppose?"  interpolated  Lady  Cecil. 

"  Exactly  so,  dear.  As  for  knowing  the  sheep  from  the 
wolves,  as  you  call  them,"  went  on  Lady  Marabout,  sort- 
ing her  embroidery  silks,  "  you  may  very  soon  know  more 
of  Chandos  Cheveley's  class  —  (this  Magenta  braid  is  good 
for  nothing ;  it 's  a  beautiful  color,  but  it  fades  imme- 
diately)— you  meet  them  in  the  country  at  all  fast  houses, 
as  they  call  them  nowadays,  like  the  Amandines' ;  they 
are  constantly  invited,  because  they  are  so  amusing,  or  so 
dead  a  shot,  or  so  good  a  whip,  and  live  on  their  invita- 
tions, because  they  have  no  locale  of  their  own.  You  see, 
all  the  women  worth  nothing  admire,  and  all  the  women 
worth  anything  shun,  them.  They  have  a  dozen  accom- 
plishments, and  not  a  single  reliable  quality ;  a  hundred 
houses  open  to  them,  and  not  a  shooting-box  of  their  own 
property  or  rental.  You  will  meet  this  Chandos  Cheveley 
everywhere,  for  instance,  as  though  he  were  somebody  de- 
sirable. You  will  see  him  in  his  club-window,  as  though 
he  were  born  only  to  read  the  papers ;  in  the  Ride,  mounted 
on  a  m>ch  better  animal  than  Fitzbreguet,  though  the  one 
pays  treble  tho  price  he  ought,  and  the  other,  I  dare  say, 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  125 

no  price  at  all ;  at  Ascot,  on  Amandine's  or  Goodwood's 
drag,  made  as  much  of  among  them  all  as  if  he  were  an 
heir-apparent  to  the  throne ;  and  yet,  my  love,  that  man 
has  n't  a  penny,  lives  Heaven  knows  where,  and  how  he 
gets  money  to  keep  his  cab  and  buy  his  gloves  is,  as  I  say, 
one  of  those  mysteries  of  settling  days,  whist-tables,  peri- 
odical writing,  Baden  coups  de  bonheur,  and  such-like  foun- 
tains of  such  men's  fortunes  which  we  can  never  hope  to 
penetrate  —  and  very  little  we  should  benefit  if  we  could  ! 
My  dearest  Cecil!  if  it  is  not  ten  minutes  to  five!  We 
must  go  and  drive  at  once." 

Lady  Ormsby  was  a  great  pet  of  Lady  Marabout's ;  she 
had  been  so  from  a  child ;  so  much  so,  that  when,  the  year 
after  Valencia  Valletort's  discomfiture  (a  discomfiture  so 
heavy  and  so  public,  that  that  young  beauty  was  seized 
with  a  fit  of  filial  devotion,  attended  her  mamma  to  Nice, 
and  figured  not  in  Belgravia  the  ensuing  season,  and  even 
Lady  Marabout's  temper  had  been  slightly  soured  by  it,  as 
you  perceive),  another  terrible  charge  was  shifted  on  her 
shoulders  by  an  appeal  from  the  guardians  of  the  late  Earl 
of  Rosediamond's  daughter  for  her  to  be  brought  out  under 
the  Marabout  wing,  she  had  consented,  and  surrendered 
herself  to  be  again  a  martyr  to  responsibility  for  the  sake 
of  Cecil  and  Cecil's  lost  mother.  The  young  lady  was  a 
beauty  ;  she  was  worse,  she  was  an  heiress  ;  she  was  worse 
still,  she  was  saucy,  wayward,  and  notable  for  a  strong  will 
of  her  own — a  more  dangerous  young  thorough-bred  was 
never  brought  to  a  gentler  Rarey ;  and  yet  she  was  the 
first  charge  of  this  nature  that  Lady  Marabout  had  ever 
accepted  in  the  whole  course  of  her  life  with  no  misgivings 
and  with  absolute  pleasure.  First,  she  was  very  fond  of 
Cecil  Ormsby;  secondly,  she  longed  to  efface  her  miserable 
failure  with  Valencia  by  a  brilliant  success,  which  should 
light  up  all  the  gloom  of  her  past  of  chapcronage  ;  thirdly, 
she  had  a  sweet  and  long-cherished  diplomacy  nestling  in 
her  heart  to  throw  her  son  and  Lord  Itu^^itdiauiond'H 
11* 


126  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

daughter  together,  for  the  eventual  ensnaring  and  fettering 
of  Carruthers,  which  policy  nothing  could  favor  so  well 
as  having  the  weapon  for  that  deadly  purpose  in  her  own 
house  through  April,  May,  and  June. 

Cecil  Ormsby  was  a  beauty  and  an  heiress — spirited, 
sarcastic,  brilliant,  wilful,  very  proud  ;  altogether,  a  more 
spirited  young  filly  never  needed  a  tight  hand  on  the 
ribbons,  a  light  but  a  firm  seat,  and  a  temperate  though 
judicious  use  of  the  curb  to  make  her  endure  being  ridden 
at  all,  even  over  the  most  level  grass  countries  of  life. 
And  yet,  for  the  reasons  just  mentioned.  Lady  Marabout, 
who  never  had  a  tight  hand  upon  anything,  who  is  to  be 
thrown  in  a  moment  by  any  wilful  kick  or  determined 
plunge,  who  is  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  any  filly  that 
chooses  to  take  the  bit  between  her  own  teeth  and  bolt 
off,  and  is  entirely  incapable  of  using  the  curb,  even  to 
the  most  ill-natured  and  ill-trained  Shetland  that  ever 
deserved  to  have  its  mouth  sawed,  —  Lady  Marabout 
undertook  the  jockeyship  without  fear, 

"  I  dare  say  you  wonder,  after  my  grief  with  Valencia, 
that  I  have  consented  to  bring  another  girl  out,  but  when 
I  heard  it  was  poor  Rosediamond's  wish — his  dying  wish, 
one  may  almost  say  —  that  Cecil  should  make  her  debut 
with  me,  what  was  I  to  do,  my  dear?"  she  explained, 
half  apologetically,  to  Carruthers,  when  the  question  was 
first  agitated.  Perhaps,  too.  Lady  Marabout  had  in  her 
heart  been  slightly  sickened  of  perfectly  trained  young 
ladies  brought  up  on  the  best  systems,  and  admitted  to 
herself  that  the  pets  of  the  foreign  houses  may  not  be  the 
most  attractive  fiowers  after  all. 

So  Lady  Cecil  Ormsby  was  installed  in  Lowndes 
Square,  and  though  she  Avas  the  inheritor  of  her  mother's 
wealth,  which  was  considerable,  and  possessor  of  ho.r  own 
wit  and  beauty,  which  were  not  inconsiderable  either,  and 
therefore  a  prize  to  fortune-hunters  and  a  lure  to  misoga- 
mists,  as  Lady  Marabout  knew  very  well  how  to  keep  the 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  127 

first  off,  and  had  her  pet  project  of  numbering  her  refrac- 
tory son  among  the  converted  second,  she  rather  congrat- 
ulated herself  than  otherwise  in  having  the  pleasure  and 
eclat  of  introducing  her ;  and  men  voted  the  Marabout 
Yearlings  Sale  of  that  season,  since  it  comprised  Kose- 
diamond's  handsome  daughter,  as  dangerous  as  a  horse- 
dealer's  auction  to  a  young  greenhorn,  or  a  draper's 
"  sale,  without  reserve,  at  enormous  sacrifice,"  to  a  lady 
with  a  soul  on  bargains  bent. 

"  How  very  odd !  Just  as  we  have  been  talking  of 
him,  there  is  that  man  again !  I  must  bow  to  him,  I  sup- 
pose; though  if  there  be  a  person  I  dislike "  said 

Lady  Marabout,  giving  a  frigid  little  bend  of  her  head 
as  her  barouche,  with  its  dashing  roans,  rolled  from  her 
door,  and  a  tilbury  passed  them,  driving  slowly  through 
the  square. 

Cecil  Ormsby  bowed  to  its  occupant  with  less  severity, 
and  laughed  under  the  sheltering  shadow  of  her  white 
parasol-fringe. 

"  The  Ogre  has  a  very  pretty  trap,  though.  Lady  Mar- 
about, and  the  most  delicious  gray  horse  in  it!  Such 
good  action ! " 

"  If  its  action  is  good,  my  love,  I  dare  say  it  is  more 
than  could  be  said  of  its  master's  actions.  He  is  going 
to  call  on  that  Mrs.  Marechale,  very  probably ;  he  was 
always  there  last  season." 

And  Lady  Marabout  shook  her  head  and  looked  grave, 
which,  combined  with  the  ever-damnatory  demonstrative 
conjunction,  Ijlaekened  Mrs.  Marechale's  moral  character 
as  much  as  Ludy  Marabout  could  blacken  any  one's,  she 
loving  as  little  to  soil  her  own  fingers  and  her  neighbors' 
reputations  with  the  indelible  Italian  chalk  of  scandal  as 
any  lady  I  know ;  being  given,  on  the  contrary,  when 
compelled  to  draw  any  little  sofn'al  croquis  of  a  back- 
biting nature,  to  skctcli  tliem  in  as  lightly  as  she  could, 
take  out  as  many  lights  as  po.ssil)le.  and  rub  in  the  shad- 


128         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

ows  with  a  very  chary  and  pitying  hand,  except,  indeed, 
when  she  took  the  portrait  of  such  an  Ogre  as  Chandoa 
Cheveley,  when  I  can't  say  she  was  quite  so  merciful, 
specially  when  policy  and  prejudice  combined  to  suggest 
that  it  would  be  best  (and  not  unjust)  to  use  the  blackest 
Conte  crayons  obtainable. 

The  subject  of  it  would  not  have  denied  the  correct- 
ness of  the  silhouette  Lady  Marabout  had  snipped  out 
for  the  edification  of  Lady  Cecil,  had  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  it :  he  had  no  habitation,  nor  was  ever  likely  to  have 
any,  save  a  bachelor's  suite  in  a  back  street ;  he  had  been 
an  idle  man  for  the  last  twenty  years,  with  not  a  sou  to 
be  idle  upon  ;  the  springs  of  his  very  precarious  fortunes, 
his  pursuits,  habits,  reputation,  ways  and  means,  were  all 
much  what  she  had  described  them  ;  yet  he  set  the  fashion 
much  oftener  than  Goodwood,  and  dukes  and  millionnaires 
would  follow  the  style  of  his  tie,  or  the  shape  of  his  hat ; 
he  moved  in  the  most  brilliant  circles  as  Court  Circulars 
have  it,  and  all  the  best  houses  were  open  to  him.  At 
his  Grace  of  Amandine's,  staying  there  for  the  shooting, 
he  would  alter  the  stud,  find  fault  with  the  claret,  arrange 
a  Drive  for  deer  in  the  forest,  and  flirt  with  her  Grace 
herself,  as  though,  as  Lady  Marabout  averred,  he  had 
been  Heir-apparent  or  Prince  Regent,  who  honored  the 
Castle  by  his  mere  presence,  Amandine  all  the  while 
SAvearing  by  every  word  he  spoke,  thinking  nothing  well 
done  without  Cheveley,  and  submitting  to  be  set  aside  in 
his  own  Castle,  Avith  the  greatest  gratification  at  the 
extinction. 

But  that  Cliandos  Cheveley  was  not  worth  a  farthing, 
that  he  was  but  a  Bohemian  on  a  brilliant  scale,  that  any 
day  he  might  disappear  from  that  society  where  he  now 
glittered,  never  to  reappear,  everybody  knew ;  how  ho 
floated  there  as  he  did,  kept  his  cab  and  his  man,  paid 
for  his  stall  at  the  Opera,  his  club  fees,  and  all  the  other 
trifles  that  won't  wait,  was  an  eternal  puzzle  to  every  one 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  129 

ignorant  of  how  expensively  one  may  live  upon  nothing 
if  one  just  gets  the  knack,  and  of  how  far  a  fashionable 
reputation,  like  a  cake  of  chocolate,  will  go  to  support 
life  when  nothing  more  substantial  is  obtainable.  Lady 
Marabout  had  sketched  him  correctly  enough,  allowing 
for  a  little  politic  bitterness  thrown  in  to  counteract  Car- 
ruthers's  thoughtlessness  in  having  introduced  him  to 
Bosediamond's  daughter  (that  priceless  treasure  for  whom 
Lady  Marabout  would  fain  have  had  a  guard  of  Janissa- 
ries, if  they  would  not  have  been  likely  to  look  singular 
and  come  expensive)  ;  and  ladies  of  the  Marabout  class 
did  look  upon  him  as  an  Ogre,  guarded  their  daughters 
from  his  approach  at  a  ball  as  carefully,  if  not  as  demon- 
stratively, as  any  duck  its  ducklings  from  the  approach 
of  a  water-rat,  did  not  ask  him  to  their  dinners,  and 
bowed  to  him  chUlily  in  the  Ring.  Others  regarded  him 
as  harmless,  from  his  perfect  pennilessness ;  what  danger 
was  there  in  the  fascinations  of  a  man  whom  all  Bel- 
gravia  knew  had  n't  money  enough  to  buy  dog-skin 
gloves,  though  he  always  wore  the  best  Paris  lavender 
kid  ?  While  others,  the  pretty  married  women  chiefly, 
from  her  Grace  of  Amandine  downwards  to  Mrs.  Mare- 
chale,  of  Lowndes  Square,  flirted  with  him,  fearfully, 
and  considered  Chandos  Cheveley  what  nobody  ever  suc- 
ceeded in  disproving  him,  the  most  agreeable  man  on 
town,  with  the  finest  figure,  the  best  style,  and  the  most 
perfect  bow,  to  be  seen  in  the  Park  any  day  between 
March  and  July.  But  then,  as  Lady  Marabout  remarked 
on  a  subsequent  occasion,  a  figure,  a  style,  and  a  bow  are 
admirable  and  enviable  things,  but  they  're  not  among 
the  cardinal  virtues,  and  don't  do  to  live  upon ;  and 
tiiough  they  're  very  good  buoys  to  float  one  on  the  smooth 
sparkling  sea  of  society,  if  there  come  a  storm,  one  may 
go  down,  despite  them,  and  become  helpless  prey  to  the 
Bharks  waiting  below. 

"Philip  certainly  admires  her  very  much ;  he  said  the 
I 


130  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

other  day  there  was  something  in  her,  and  that  means  a 
great  deal  from  liim,"  thought  Lady  Marabout,  compla- 
cently, as  she  and  Cecil  Ormsby  were  wending  their  way 
through  some  crowded  rooms.  "  Of  course  T  shall  not 
influence  Cecil  towards  him  ;  it  would  not  be  honorable 
to  do  so,  since  she  might  look  for  a  higher  title  than  ray 
son's ;  still,  if  it  should  so  fall  out,  nothing  would  give 
me  greater  pleasure,  and  really  nothing  would  seem  more 
natural  with  a  little  judicious  manage " 

"  May  I  have  the  honor  of  this  valse  with  you  ? "  was 
spoken  in,  though  not  to.  Lady  Marabout's  ear.  It  Avas 
a  soft,  a  rich,  a  melodious  voice  enough,  and  yet  Lady 
Marabout  would  rather  have  heard  the  hiss  of  a  Cobra 
Capella,  for  the  footmen  might  have  caught  the  serpent 
and  carried  it  off  from  Cecil  Ormsby's  vicinity,  and  she 
could  n't  very  well  tell  them  to  rid  the  reception-cham- 
bers of  Chandos  Cheveley. 

Lady  Marabout  vainly  tried  to  catch  Cecil's  eye,  and 
warn  her  of  the  propriety  of  an  utter  and  entire  repudi- 
ation of  the  valse  in  question,  if  there  were  no  "engaged" 
producible  to  softly  chill  the  hopes  and  repulse  the  ad- 
vances of  the  aspirant ;  but  Lady  Cecil's  soul  was  obsti- 
nately bent  saltatory-wards  ;  her  chaperone's  ocular  tele- 
gram Avas  lost  upon  her,  and  only  caught  by  the  last 
person  who  should  have  seen  it,  who  read  the  message  off 
the  wires  to  his  own  amusement,  but  naturally  was  not 
magnanimous  enough  to  pass  it  on. 

"  I  ought  to  have  warned  her  never  to  dance  with  that 
detestable  man.  If  I  could  but  have  caught  her  eye  even 
now ! "  thought  Lady  Marabout,  restlessly.  The  capella 
would  have  been  much  the  more  endurable  of  the  two ; 
the  serpent  couldn't  have  passed  its  arm  round  Rose- 
diamond's  priceless  daughter  and  whirled  her  down  the 
ball-room  to  the  music  of  Coote  and  Timney's  band,  as 
Chandos  Cheveley  was  now  doing. 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES  131 

*•  Why  did  you  not  ask  her  for  that  waltz,  Philip? "  cried 
the  good  lady,  almost  petulantly. 

Carruthers  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  My  dear  mother,  you  know  I  never  dance  !  I  come 
to  balls  to  oblige  my  hostesses  and  look  at  the  women,  but 
not  to  carry  a  seven-stone  weight  of  tulle  illusion  and  white 
satin,  going  at  express  pace,  with  the  thermometer  at  80 
dog.,  and  a  dense  crowd  jostling  one  at  every  turn  in  the 
circle.  Bien  oblige  !  that 's  not  my  idea  of  pleasure ;  if 
it  were  the  Pyrrhic  dance,  now,  or  the  Tarantella,  or  the 
Bolero,  under  a  Castilian  chestnut-tree " 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  You  might  have  danced  for  once, 
just  to  have  kept  her  from  Chandos  Cheveley." 

"  From  the  best  waltzer  in  Loudon  ?  Not  so  selfish. 
Ask  Amandine's  wife  if  women  don't  like  to  dance  with 
that  fellow!" 

"I  should  be  very  sorry  to  mention  his  name  to  her,  or 
any  of  her  set,"  responded  Lady  Marabout,  getting  upon 
certain  virtuous  stilts  of  her  own,  which  she  was  given  to 
mount  on  rare  occasion  and  at  distant  intervals,  always 
finding  them  very  uncomfortable  and  unsuitable  elevations, 
and  being  as  glad  to  cast  them  off  as  a  traveller  to  kick 
off  the  echasses  he  has  had  to  strap  on  over  the  sandy 
plains  of  the  Landes. 

"What  could  possess  you  to  introduce  him  to  Cecil, 
Philip  ?  It  was  careless,  silly,  unlike  you  ;  you  know  how 
I  dislike  men  of  his  —  his  —  objectionable  stamp,"  sighed 
Lady  Marabout,  the  white  and  gold  namesakes  in  her 
coiffure  softly  trembling  a  gentle  sigh  in  the  perfumy 
zephyr  raised  by  the  rotatory  whirl  of  the  waltzers,  among 
whom  she  watched  with  a  horrible  fascination,  as  one 
watches  a  tiger  being  pugged  out  of  its  lair,  or  a  deserter 
being  led  out  to  be  shot,  Chandos  Cheveley,  waltzing 
Rosediamond's  priceless  daughter  down  the  ball-room. 

"  He  is  so  dreadfully  handsome !  I  wonder  why  it  is 
that  men  and  women,  who  have  no  f<)rtunebut  their  faces. 


132  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

will  he  so  dangerously,  so  obstinately,  so  provokingly  at- 
tractive as  one  sees  them  so  often ! "  thought  Lady  Mara- 
bout, determining  to  beat  an  immediate  retreat  from  the 
present  salons,  since  they  were  infested  by  the  presence  of 
her  Ogre,  to  Lady  Hautton's  house  in  Wilton  Crescent. 

Lady  Hautton  headed  charitable  bazaars,  belonged  to 
the  Cummingite  nebulse,  visited  Homes  and  Hospitals 
(floating  to  the  bedside  of  luckless  feminine  patients  to 
read  out  divers  edifying  passages,  whose  effect  must  have 
been  somewhat  neutralized  to  the  hearers,  one  would  im- 
agine, by  the  envy-inspiring  rustle  of  her  silks,  the  flash 
of  her  rings,  and  the  chimes  of  her  bracelets,  chains,  and 
ch&telaine),  looked  on  the  "  Amandine  set "  as  lost  souls, 
and  hence  "did  not  know"  Chandos  Cheveley — a  fact 
which,  though  the  Marabout  and  Hautton  antagonism  was 
patent  to  all  Belgravia,  served  to  endear  her  all  at  once 
to  her  foe ;  Lady  Marabout,  like  a  good  many  other 
people,  being  content  to  sink  personal  resentment,  and 
make  a  truce  with  the  infidels  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  a 
mutual  antipathy — that  closest  of  all  links  of  union! 

Lady  Marabout  and  Lady  Hautton  were  foes,  but  they 
were  dear  Helena  and  dear  Anne,  all  the  same ;  dined  at 
each  other's  tables,  and  smiled  in  each  other's  faces. 
They  might  be  private  foes, but  they  were  public  friends; 
and  Lady  Marabout  beat  a  discreet  retreat  to  the  Hautton's 
salons — "so  many  engagements"  is  so  useful  a  plea!  — 
and  from  the  Hautton  she  passed  on  to  a  ball  at  the  Duke 
of  Doncaster's ;  and,  as  at  both,  if  Lady  Cecil  Ormsby 
did  not  move  "  a  goddess  from  above,"  she  moved  a  bril- 
liant, sparkling,  nonchalante,  dangerous  beauty,  with 
some  of  her  sex's  faults,  all  her  sex's  witcheries,  and 
more  than  her  sex's  mischief,  holding  her  own  royally, 
Baucily,  and  proudly,  and  Chandos  Cheveley  was  encoun- 
tered no  more,  but  happily  detained  at  petit  souper  in  a 
certain  Section  of  the  French  Embassy,  Lady  Marabout 
drove  homewards,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  relieved, 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  133 

complacent,  and  gratified,  dozing  delicious) y,  till  she  was 
woke  up  with  a  start. 

"  Lady  Marabout,  what  a  splendid  waltzer  your  Ogre, 
Chandos  Cheveley,  is !  " 

Lady  Marabout  opened  her  eyes  with  a  jerk  that  set  her 
feathers  trembling,  her  diamonds  scintillating,  and  her 
bracelets  ringing  an  astonished  little  carillon. 

"  My  love,  how  you  frightened  me ! " 

Cecil  Ormsby  laughed — a  gay,  joyous  laugh,  innocent 
of  having  disturbed  a  doze,  a  lapse  into  human  weakness  of 
which  her  chaperoue  never  permitted  herself  to  plead  guilty 

"Frightened  you,  did  I?  Why,  your  hete  noire  is  as 
terrible  to  you  as  Coeur  de  Lion  to  the  Saracen  children, 
or  Black  Douglas  to  the  Lowland  !  And,  really,  I  can't 
see  anything  terrible  in  him  ;  he  is  excessively  brilliant 
and  agreeable,  has  something  worth  hearing  to  say  to  you, 
and  his  waltzing  is !" 

Lady  Cecil  Ormsby  had  not  a  word  in  her  repertory - 
though  it  was  an  enthusiastic  and  comprehensive  one,  and 
embraced  five  languages  —  sufiiciently  commendatdiry  to 
finish  her  sentence. 

"  I  dare  say,  dear  !  I  never  denied,  or  heard  denied, 
his  having  every  accomplishment  under  the  sun.  The 
only  pity  is,  he  has  nothing  more  substantial ! "  returned 
Lady  Marabout,  a  little  bit  tartly  for  her  lips,  only  used 
to  the  softest  (and  most  genuine)  milk  of  roses. 

Lord  Rosediamond's  daughter  laughed  a  little  mourn- 
fully, and  played  with  her  fan. 

"  Poor  man !  Brilliant  and  beggared,  fashionable  and 
friendless,  courted  and  cashiered  —  a  sad  destiny  !  Do  you 
know,  Lady  Marabout,  I  have  half  a  mind  to  champion 
your  Ogre ! " 

"My  love,  don't  talk  nonsense!"  said  Lady  Marabout, 
hastily,  at  which  Lady  Cecil  only  laughed  still  more  softly 
and  gayly  again,  and  sprung  down  as  the  carriage  stopped 
in  Luwndes  Square. 
12 


134  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

"  Rosediaraond's  daiigliter's  deucedly  handsome,  eh, 
Cheveley  ?  I  saw  you  waltzing  with  her  last  night,"  said 
Goodwood  at  Lord's  the  next  morning,  watching  a  match 
between  the  Household  Cavalry  and  the  Zingari  Eleven, 

"Yes,  she  is  the  best  thing  we  have  seen  for  some  time," 
eaid  Cheveley,  glancing  round  to  see  if  the  Marabout 
liveries  were  on  the  ground. 

"  Don't  let  the  Amandine  or  little  Marechale  hear  you 
say  so,  or  you'll  have  a  deuce  of  a  row,"  laughed  Good- 
wood. "She's  worth  a  good  deal,  too;  she's  all  her 
mother's  property,  and  that's  something,  I  know.  The 
deaths  in  her  family  have  kept  her  back  two  years  or  more, 
but  now  she  is  out,  I  dare  say  Lady  Tattersall  will  put  her 
up  high  in  the  market." 

"No  doubt.  Why  don't  you  make  the  investment — 
she's  much  more  attractive  than  that  Valletort  ice  statue 
who  hooked  you  so  nearly  last  year  ?  Fortescue 's  out! 
Well  done,  little  Jimmy !  Ah  !  there 's  the  Marabout 
carriage.  I  am  as  unwelcome  to  that  good  lady,  I  know, 
as  if  I  were  Quasimodo  or  Quilp,  and  as  much  to  be 
shunned,  in  her  estimation,  as  Vidocq,  armed  to  the  teeth  ; 
nevertheless,  I  shall  go  and  talk  to  them,  if  only  in  re- 
venge for  the  telegraphic  warning  of  *  dangerous'  she  shot 
at  Lady  Cecil  last  night  when  I  asked  her  to  waltz.  Good- 
wood, don't  you  envy  me  my  happy  immunity  from  traps 
matrimonial  ?  " 

"There  is  that  man  again — how  provoking!  I  wish 
we  had  not  come  to  see  Philip's  return  match.  He  is 
positively  coming  up  to  talk  to  us,"  thought  Lady  Mara- 
bout, restlessly,  as  her  Ogre  lifted  his  hat  to  her.  In  vain 
did  she  do  her  best  to  look  severe,  to  look  frigid,  to  chill 
him  with  a  withering  "good  morning,"  (a  little  word, 
capable,  if  you  notice,  of  expressing  every  gradation  in 
feeling,  from  the  nadir  of  delighted  intimacy  to  the  zero 
of  rebuking  frigidity;)  her  coldest  ice  was  as  warm  as  a 
pine-cipple  ice  that  has  been  melting  all  day  under  a  re- 


LAL  V  marabout's  TROUBLES.         135 

fresliraent  tent  at  a  liorticultural  fete?  Her  role  was  not 
chilliness,  and  never  could  be ;  she  would  have  beamed 
benign  on  a  headsman  who  liad  led  her  out  to  instant  de- 
capitation, and  been  no  more  able  to  help  it  than  a  peach 
to  help  its  bloom  or  a  claret  its  bouquet.  She  did  her 
utmost  to  freeze  Chandos  Cheveley,  but  either  she  failed 
signally,  or  he,  being  blessed  with  the  brazen  conscience 
she  had  attributed  to  him,  was  steeled  to  all  the  tacit 
repulses  of  her  looks,  for  he  leant  against  the  barouche- 
door,  let  her  freeze  him  away  as  she  might,  and  chatted  to 
Cecil  Ormsby,  "  positively,"  Lady  Marabout  remarked  to 
that  safest  confidante,  herself,  "  positively  as  if  the  man 
had  been  welcome  at  my  house  for  the  last  ten  years  !  If 
Cecil  would  but  second  me,  he  couldn't  do  it;  but  she  will 
smile  and  talk  with  him  just  as  though  he  were  Goodwood 
or  Fitzbreguet !  It  is  very  disagreeable  to  be  forced  against 
one's  will  like  this  into  countenancing  such  a  very  objec- 
tionable person  ;  and  yet  what  can  one  do  ?  " 

Which  query  she  could  by  no  means  satisfactorily 
answer  herself,  being  a  regular  female  Nerva  for  clemency, 
utterly  incapable  of  the  severity  with  which  that  stern 
Catiline,  Lady  Hautton,  would  have  signed  the  unwelcome 
intruder  out  of  the  way  in  a  brace  of  seconds.  And 
under  Nerva's  gentle  rule,  though  Nerva  was  longing 
with  all  her  heart  to  have  the  courage  to  call  the  lictors 
and  say,  "  Away  with  him ! "  Cheveley  leant  against  the 
door  of  the  carriage  unmolested,  though  decidedly  unde- 
sired  by  one  of  its  occupants,  talked  to  by  Lady  Cecil, 
possibly  because  she  found  him  as  agreeable  as  her  Grace 
of  Amandine  and  Lillia  Marechale  had  done  before  her, 
possibly  only  from  that  rule  of  contrariety  which  is  such 
a  pet  motor-power  with  her  sex  ;  and  Lady  Marabout 
reclined  among  her  cushions,  tucked  up  in  her  tiger-skin 
in  precisely  that  state  of  mind  in  which  Fuseli  said  to  his 
wife,  "  Swear,  my  dear,  you  don't  know  how  much  good 
it  will  d(^  you,"  dreading  in  herself  the  possible  advent 


136  LADY    MARABODTft    TEOUBLES. 

of  the  Hautton  carnage,  for  that  ancient  enemy  and 
rigid  pietist,  of  whose  keen  tongue  and  eminent  virtue 
she  always  stood  secretly  in  awe,  to  see  this  worthless  and 
utterly  objectionable  member  of  that  fast,  graceless,  and 
"very  incorrect"  Amandine  set,  absolutely  en  sentinelle 
at  the  door  of  her  barouche ! 

Does  your  best  friend  ever  come  when  you  want  him 
most?  Doesn't  your  worst  foe  always  come  when  you 
want  him  least?  Of  course,  at  that  juncture,  the  Hautton 
carriage  came  on  the  ground  (Hautton  was  one  of  the 
Zingari  Club,  and  maternal  interest  brought  her  foe  to 
Lord's  as  it  had  brought  herself),  and  the  Hautton  eye- 
glass, significantly  and  surprisedly  raised,  said  as  distinctly 
to  Lady  Marabout,  as  though  elfishly  endowed  with  vocal 
powers,  "You  allow  that  man  acquaintance  with  Rose- 
diamond's  daughter ! "  Lady  Marabout  was  stung  to  the 
soul  by  the  deserved  rebuke,  but  she  did  n't  know  how  on 
earth  to  get  rid  of  the  sinner  !  There  he  leaned,  calmly, 
nonchalantly,  determinedly,  as  if  he  were  absolutely  wel- 
come ;  and  Lady  Cecil  talked  on  to  him  as  if  he  were 
absolutely  welcome  too. 

Lady  Marabout  felt  branded  in  the  eyes  of  all  Belgra- 
via  to  have  Chandos  Cheveley  at  her  carriage-door,  the 
most  objectionable  man  of  all  his  most  objectionable  class. 
"  It  is  very  strange ! "  she  thought.  "  I  have  seen  that 
man  about  town  the  last  five-and-twenty  years — ever  since 
he  was  a  mere  boy,  taken  up  and  petted  by  Adeline  Pat- 
chouli for  some  piece  of  witty  Brummelian  impudence 
he  said  to  her  on  his  first  introduction — and  he  has  never 
nought  my  acquaintance  before,  but  always  seemed  to  be 
quite  aware  of  my  dislike  to  him  and  all  his  set.  It  is 
very  grievous  he  should  have  chosen  the  very  season  I 
have  poor  dear  Rosediamond's  daughter  with  me ;  but 
it  is  always  my  fate — if  a  thing  can  happen  to  annoy  me 
it  always  will !  " 

With  which  Lady  Marabout,  getting  fairly  distracted 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  137 

under  the  iron  hand  of  adverse  fate,  and  the  ruthless  sur- 
veillance of  the  Hautton  glass,  invented  an  impromptu 
necessity  for  immediate  shopping  at  Lewis  and  Allouby's, 
and  drove  off  the  ground  at  the  sole  moment  of  interest 
the  match  possessed  for  her  —  viz.,  when  Carruthers  -Nvas 
rattling  down  Hautton's  stumps,  and  getting  innings  in- 
numerable for  the  Household. 

"Mais  ce  n'est  que  le  premier  pas  qui  coiite;"  the  old 
proverb  's  so  true  we  wear  it  threadbare  with  repeating  it! 
Lady  Marabout  might  as  well  have  stayed  on  Lord's 
ground,  and  not  lacerated  her  feelings  by  leaving  at  the 
very  hour  of  the  Household  Cavalry's  triumphs,  for  any 
good  that  she  did  thereby.  The  Hautton  eye-glass  had 
lighted  on  Chandos  Cheveley,  and  Chandos  Cheveley's 
eye-glass  on  Rosediamond's  daughter; — and  Cecil  Ormsby 
arched  her  eyebrows,  and  gave  her  parasol  a  little  impa- 
tient shake  as  they  quitted  Lord's. 

"  Lady  Marabout,  I  never  could  have  believed  you  ill- 
natured  ;  you  interrupted  my  ball  last  night,  and  my  con- 
versation this  morning !  I  shall  scold  you  if  you  ever  do 
so  again.  And  now  tell  me  (as  curiosity  is  a  weakness 
incidental  to  all  women,  no  woman  ought  to  refuse  to 
relieve  it  in  another)  why  are  you  so  prejudiced  against 
that  very  handsome,  and  very  amusing  person  ?  " 

"  Prejudiced,  my  dear  child  !  I  am  not  in  the  least  pre- 
judiced," returned  Lady  Marabout.  (Nobody  ever  ad- 
mitted to  a  prejudice  that  /  ever  heard.  It's  a  plant 
that  grows  in  all  gardens,  and  is  sedulously  matted  up, 
watered,  and  strengthened ;  but  invariably  disavowed  by 
its  sturdiest  cultivators.)  "As  for  Chandos  Cheveley, 
I  merely  mentioned  to  you  what  all  town  knows  about 
him  ;  and  the  dislike  I  have  to  his  class  is  one  of  principle, 
not  of  prejudice." 

Lady  Cecil  made  a  moue  mutine : 

"Oh,  Lady  Marabout!  if  you  go  to  'principle,'  tout 
Off  7terdu  !  '  I'rinciple '  has  been  made  to  bear  the  onu? 
12* 


lo8  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

of  every  private  pique  since  the  world  began,  and  has  had 
to  answer  for  more  cruelties  and  injustice  than  any  word 
in  the  language.  The  Romans  flung  the  Christians  to 
the  lions  *  on  principle,'  and  the  Europeans  slew  the  Ma- 
homedans  '  on  principle,'  and  '  principle '  lighted  the  uu- 
tos-da-fe,  and  signed  to  the  tormentor  to  give  a  turn  more 
to  the  rack !  Please  don't  appeal  to  anything  so  severe 
and  hypocritical.     Come,  what  are  the  Ogre's  sins?" 

Lady  Marabout  laughed,  despite  the  subject. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  a  compiler  of  such  catalogues, 
ray  love  ?  Pray  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  Chan- 
dos  Cheveley,  he  is  very  little  worth  it ;  all  I  say  to  you 
is,  be  as  cool  to  him  as  you  can,  without  rudeness,  of 
course.  I  am  never  at  home  when  he  calls,  and  were  I 
you,  I  would  be  always  engaged  when  he  asks  you  to  waltz ; 
his  acquaintance  can  in  no  way  benefit  you." 

Lady  Cecil  gave  a  little  haughty  toss  of  her  head,  and 
lay  back  in  the  barouche. 

"  I  will  judge  of  that !  I  am  not  made  for  fetters  of 
any  kind,  you  know,  and  I  like  to  choose  my  own  ac- 
quaintance as  well  as  to  choose  my  own  dresses.  I  can- 
not obey  you  either  this  evening,  for  he  asked  me  to  put 
him  on  my  tablets  for  the  first  waltz  at  Lord  Anisette's 
ball,  and  I  consented.  I  had  no  '  engaged '  ready,  unless 
I  had  had  a  falsehood  ready  too,  and  yoto  would  n't  counsel 
that,  Lady  Marabout,  I  am  very  sure?" 

With  which  straightforward  and  perplexing  question 
Cecil  Ormsby  successfully  silenced  her  chaperone,  by 
planting  her  in  that  disagreeable  position  known  as  be- 
tween the  horns  of  a  dilemma ;  and  Lady  Marabout, 
shrinking  alike  from  the  responsibility  of  counselling  a 
"  necessary  equivocation,"  as  society  politely  terms  its  in- 
dispensable lies,  and  the  responsibility  of  allowing  Cecil 
acquaintance  with  the  "  very  worst  "  of  the  Amandine  set, 
higlied,  wondered  envyingly  how  Anne  Hautton  would  act 
in  her  place,  and  almost  began  to  wish  somebody  else  had 


LKDY  marabout's  iroubles.  139 

had  the  onerous  stewardship  of  that  brilliant  and  price- 
less jewel,  Rosediamond's  daughter,  now  that  the  jewel 
threatened  to  be  possessed  with  a  will  of  its  own:  —  the 
greatest  possible  flaw  in  a  gem  of  pure  water,  which  they 
only  want  to  scintillate  brilliantly  among  the  bijouterie 
of  society,  and  let  itself  be  placed  passively  in  the  setting 
most  suitable  for  it,  that  can  be  conceived  in  the  eyes  of 
lady  lapidaries  intrusted  with  its  sale. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  thought  Lady  Marabout ;  "  she  seems 
to  have  taken  a  much  greater  fancy  to  that  odious  man 
than  to  Philip,  or  Goodwood,  or  Fitz,  or  any  one  of  the 
men  who  admire  her  so  much.  I  suppose  I  always  am  to 
be  Avorried  in  this  sort  of  way  !  However,  there  can  be 
no  real  danger ;  Chandos  Cheveley  is  the  merest  butterfly 
flirt,  and  with  all  his  faults  none  ever  accused  him  of 
fortune-hunting.  Still,  they  say  he  is  wonderfully  fasci- 
nating, and  certainly  he  has  the  most  beautiful  voice  I 
ever  heard ;  and  if  Cecil  should  ever  like  him  at  all,  I 
could  never  forgive  myself,  and  what  should  I  say  to 
General  Ormsby  ?  " 

The  General,  Cecil's  uncle  and  guardian,  is  one  of  the 
best-humored,  best-tempered,  and  most  laissez-faire  men 
in  the  Service,  but  was,  for  all  that,  a  perpetual  dead 
weight  on  Lady  Marabout's  mind  just  then,  for  was  not 
he  the  person  to  whom,  at  the  end  of  the  season,  she 
would  have  to  render  up  account  of  the  successes  and 
tlie  shortcomings  of  her  chaperone's  career  ? 

"  Do  you  think  of  proposing  Chandos  Cheveley  as  a 
suitable  alliance  for  Cecil  Ormsby,  my  dear  Helena?" 
asked  Lady  Hautton,  with  that  smile  which  was  felt  to 
he  considerably  worse  than  strychnine  by  her  foes  and 
victims,  at  a  house  in  Grosvenor  Place,  that  night. 

"God  forbid!"  prayed  Lady  Marabout,  mentally,  jis 
she  joined  in  the  Hautton  laugh,  and  shivered  under  the 
stab  of  the  Hautton  sneer,  which  was  an  excessively  sharj) 
one.  Lady  Hautton  being  one  of  a  rather  numerous  class 


140  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

of  eminent  Christians,  so  panoplied  in  the  armoi  of  right- 
eousness that  they  can  tread,  without  feeling  it,  on  the 
tender  feet  of  others. 

The  evening  was  spoiled  to  Lady  Marabout ;  she  felt 
morally  and  guiltily  responsible  for  an  unpardonable 
indiscretion : — with  that  man  waltzing  with  Cecil  Ormsby, 
her  "graceful,  graceless,  gracious  Grace"  of  Amandine 
visibly  irritated  with  jealousy  at  the  sight,  and  Anne 
Hautton  whispering  behind  her  fan  with  acidulated  sig- 
nificance. Lady  Marabout  had  never  been  more  miser- 
able in  her  life  !  She  heard  on  all  sides  admiration  of 
Rosediamond's  daughter ;  she  was  gratified  by  seeing 
Goodwood,  Fitzbreguet,  Fulke  Nugent,  every  eligible 
man  in  the  room,  suing  for  a  place  on  her  tablets ;  she 
had  the  delight  of  beholding  Carruthers  positively  join 
the  negligent  beauty's  train ;  and  yet  the  night  was  a 
night  of  purgatory  to  Lady  Marabout,  for  Chandos 
Cheveley  had  his  first  waltz,  and  several  after  it,  and  the 
Amandine  set  were  there  to  gossip,  and  the  Hautton 
clique  to  be  shocked,  at  it. 

"Soames,  tell  Mason,  whei  Mr.  Chandos  Cheveley 
calls,  I  am  not  at  home,"  said  Lady  Marabout  at 
breakfast. 

"  Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Soames,  who  treasured  up  the 
order,  and  told  it  to  Mr.  Chandos  Cheveley 's  man  at  the 
first  opportunity,  though,  greatly  to  his  honor,  we  must 
admit,  he  did  not  imitate  the  mild  formula  of  fib,  and 
tell  his  mistress  her  claret  was  not  corked  when  it  was  so 
incontestably. 

Cecil  Ormsby  lifted  her  head  and  looked  across  the 
table  at  her  hostess,  and  the  steady  gaze  of  those  violet 
eyes,  which  were  Rosediamond's  daughter's  best  weapons 
of  war,  so  discomposed  Lady  Marabout,  that  she  forgot 
herself  sufiiciently  to  proffer  Bijou  a  piece  of  bread,  an 
unparalleled  insult,  which  that  canine  Sybarite  did  not 
forget  all  day  long. 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         141 

"  Not  at  home,  sir,"  said  Mason,  as  duly  directed,  when 
Cheveley's  cab  pulled  up,  a  week  or  two  after  the  general 
order,  at  the  door. 

Cheveley  smiled  to  himself  as  his  gray  had  her  head 
turned,  and  the  wheel  grated  off  the  trottoir,  Avhile  he 
lifted  his  hat  to  Cecil  Ormsby,  just  visible  between  the 
amber  curtains  and  above  the  balcony  flowers  of  one  of 
the  windoAvs  of  the  drawing-room  —  quite  visible  enough 
for  her  return  smile  and  bow  to  be  seen  in  the  street  by 
Cheveley,  in  the  room  by  Lady  Marabout. 

"  Some  of  Lady  Tattersall's  generalship  ! "  he  thought, 
as  the  gray  trotted  out  of  the  square.  "  Well  1  I  have 
no  business  there.  Cecil  Ormsby  is  not  her  Grace  of 
Amandine,  nor  little  Marechale,  and  the  good  lady  is 
quite  right  to  brand  me  'dangerous'  to  her  charge,  and 
pronounce  me  '  inadmissible '  to  her  footman.  I  've  very 
little  title  to  resent  her  verdict." 

"  My  dearest  Cecil,  whatever  possessed  you  to  bow  to 
that  man ! "  cried  Lady  Marabout,  in  direst  distress. 

"  Is  it  not  customary  to  bow  to  one's  acquaintances — I 
thought  it  was?"  asked  Lady  Cecil,  with  demure  mischief. 

"  But,  my  dear,  from  a  window  ! — and  when  Mason  is 
Baying  we  are  not  at  home ! " 

"  That  is  n't  Mason's  fib,  or  Mason's  fault.  Lady  Mara- 
bout ! "  suggested  Cecil,  with  wicked  emphasis. 

"  There  is  no  falsehood  or  fault  at  all  anywhere — 
everybody  knows  well  enough  what '  not  at  home '  means," 
returned  Lady  Marabout,  almost  pettishly. 

"Oh  yes,"  laughed  the  young  lady,  saucily.  "It 
means  '  I  am  at  home  and  sitting  in  my  drawing-room, 
but  I  shall  not  rise  to  receive  you,  be^-ause  you  are  not 
worth  the  trouble.'  It's  a  polite  cut  direct,  and  a  hon- 
eyed rudeness  —  a  bitter  almond  wrapped  up  in  a  sugar 
dragee,  like  a  good  many  other  bonbons  handed  about  in 
society." 

"  My  dear  Cecil,  you  have  some  very  strange  ideas ; 


142  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

you  will  get  called  satirical  if  you  don't  take  care,"  said 
Lady  Marabout,  nervously. 

Cecil  Onusby's  tone  worried  her,  and  made  her  feel 
something  as  she  felt  when  she  had  a  restive,  half-broken 
pair  of  horses  in  her  carriage,  for  the  direction  of  whose 
next  plunge  or  next  kick  nobody  could  answer. 

"And  if  I  be  — what  then?" 

"  My  dear  child,  you  could  not  anyhow  get  a  more 
disadvantageous  reputation !  It  may  amuse  gentlemen, 
though  it  frightens  half  them;  but  it  offends  all  women 
irremediably.  You  see,  there  are  so  few  whom  it  doesn't 
hit  somewhere,"  returned  Lady  Marabout,  quite  innocent 
of  the  neat  satire  of  her  own  last  sentence. 

Cecil  Ormsby  laughed,  and  threw  herself  down  by  her 
chaperone's  side : 

"  Never  mind :  I  can  bear  their  enmity  ;  it  is  a  greater 
compliment  than  their  liking.  The  women  whom  women 
love  are  always  quiet,  colorless,  inoffensive — foils.  Lady 
Marabout,  tell  me,  why  did  you  give  that  general  order 
to  Mason?" 

"  I  have  told  you  before,  my  dear.  Because  I  have  no 
wish  to  know  Mr.  Chandos  Cheveley,"  returned  Lady 
Marabout,  as  stiffly  as  she  could  say  anything.  "  It  is,  as 
I  said,  not  from  prejudice,  but  from  prin " 

"  Lady  Marabout,  if  you  use  that  word  again,  I  will 
drive  to  uncle  Ormsby's  rooms  in  the  Albany  and  stay 
with  him  for  the  season  ;  I  will,  positively !  I  am  sure 
all  the  gentlemen  there  will  be  delighted  to  have  my  so- 
ciety !  Pray,  what  are  your  Ogre's  crimes  ?  Did  you 
ever  hear  anything  dishonorable,  mean,  ungenerous,  at- 
tributed to  him  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  he  broke  his  word, 
or  failed  to  act  like  a  gentleman,  or  was  a  defaulter  at 
any  settling  day?" 

Lady  Marabout  required  some  explanation  of  what  a 
defaulter  at  a  settling  day  might  be,  and,  on  receiving  it, 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         143 

was  compelled  to  coufess  that  she  never  had  heard  any- 
thing of  that  kind  imputed  to  Chandos  Chevelej'- . 

"  Of  course  I  have  not,  my  dear.  The  man  is  a  gen- 
tleman, everybody  knows,  however  idle  and  improvident 
a  one.  If  he  could  be  accused  of  anything  of  that  kind, 
he  would  not  belong  to  such  clubs,  and  associate  with 
such  men  as  he  does.  Besides,  Philip  would  not  know 
him ;  certainly  would  not  think  well  of  him,  which  I 
confess  he  does.     But  that  is  not  at  all  the  question." 

"iVe  vous  en  deplaise,  I  think  it  very  much  and  very 
entirely  the  question,"  returned  Lady  Cecil,  with  a  toss 
of  her  haughty  little  head.  "  If  you  can  bring  nothing 
in  evidence  against  a  man,  it  is  not  right  to  send  him  to 
the  galleys  and  mark  him  '  For9at.'  " 

"My  dear  Cecil,  there  is  plenty  in  evidence  against 
him,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  Avith  a  mental  back  glance  to 
certain  stories  told  of  the  "  Amandine  set,"  "  though  not 
of  that  kind.  A  man  may  be  perfectly  unexceptionable 
in  his  conduct  with  his  men  friends,  but  very  objection- 
able acquaintance  for  us  to  seek,  all  the  same." 

"  Ah,  I  see !  Lord  Goodwood  may  bet,  and  flirt,  and 
lounge  his  days  away,  and  be  as  fast  a  man  as  he  likes, 
and  it  is  all  right ;  but  if  Mr.  Cheveley  does  the  same,  it 
is  all  wrong,  because  he  is  not  worth  forgiving." 

"  Naturally  it  is,"  returned  Lady  Marabout,  seriously 
and  naively.  "But  how  very  oddly  you  put  things,  my 
love;  and  why  you  should  interest  yourself  in  this  man, 
when  everything  I  tell  you  is  to  his  disadvantage,  I 
cannot  imagine." 

A  remark  that  showed  Lady  Marabout  a  skilful  tac- 
tician, insomuch  as  it  silenced  Cecil — a  performance 
rather  diflicult  of  accomplishment. 

"  I  ari  very  glad  I  gave  the  order  to  Mason,"  thought 
that  good  lady.  "  I  only  wish  we  did  not  meet  the  man 
in  society  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  help  that.  We  are  all 
cards  of  one  pack,  and  get  shufiled  together,  whether  w«» 


144         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

like  it  or  not.  I  wish  Philip  would  pay  her  more  atten- 
tion ;  he  admires  her,  I  can  see,  and  he  can  make  any 
woman  like  him  in  ten  days  when  he  takes  the  trouble; 
but  he  is  so  tiresome !  She  would  be  exactly  suited  to 
him;  she  has  all  he  would  exact  —  beauty,  talent,  good 
blood,  and  even  fortune,  though  that  he  would  not  need. 
The  alliance  would  be  a  great  happiness  to  me.  Well,  he 
dines  here  to-night,  and  he  gives  that  concert  at  his  bar- 
racks to-morrow  morning,  purely  to  please  Cecil,  I  am 
sure.  I  think  it  may  be  brought  about  with  careful  man- 
agement." 

AVith  which  pleasant  reflection  she  went  to  drive  in 
the  Ring,  thinking  that  her  maternal  and  duenna  duties 
would  be  alike  well  fulfilled,  and  her  chaperone's  career 
well  finished,  if  by  any  amount  of  tact,  intrigue,  finesses, 
and  diplomacy  she  could  live  to  see  Cecil  Ormsby  sign 
herself  Cecil  Carruthers. 

"  If  that  man  were  only  out  of  town ! "  she  thought, 
as  Cheveley  passed  them  in  Amandine's  mail-phaeton  at 
the  turn. 

Lady  Marabout  might  wish  Cheveley  were  out  of  town 
• — and  wish  it  devoutly  she  did — but  she  wasn't  very  likely 
to  have  her  desire  gratified  till  the  general  migration 
should  carry  him  off  in  its  tide  to  the  deck  of  a  yacht,  a 
lodge  in  the  Highlands,  a  German  Kursaal,  or  any  one 
of  those  myriad  "  good  houses "  where  nobody  was  so 
welcome  as  he,  the  best  shot,  the  best  seat,  the  best  wit, 
the  best  billiard-player,  the  best  whist-player,  and  the 
best  authority  on  all  fashionable  topics,  of  any  man  in 
England.  Cheveley  used  to  aver  that  he  liked  Lady 
Marabout,  though  she  detested  him ;  nay,  that  he  liked 
her  for  her  detestation ;  he  said  it  was  cordial,  sincere, 
and  refreshing,  therefore  a  treat  in  the  world  of  Belgravia; 
Btill,  he  did  n't  like  her  so  well  as  to  leave  Town  in  the 
middle  of  May  to  oblige  her ;  and  though  he  took  her 
hint  as  it  was  meant,  and  pulled  up  his  hansom  no  more 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  145 

at  her  door,  he  met  her  and  Rosediamoiul's  daughter  at  din- 
ners, balls,  concerts,  morning-parties  innumerable.  He 
saw  them  in  the  Ring ;  he  was  seen  by  them  at  the  Opera ; 
he  came  across  them  constantly  in  the  gyration  of  London 
life.  Night  after  night  Lady  Cecil  persisted  in  writijig 
his  name  in  her  tablets;  evening  after  evening  a  bizarre 
fate  worried  Lady  Marabout,  by  putting  him  on  the  left 
hand  of  her  priceless  charge  at  a  dinner-party.  Day  after 
day  all  the  harmony  of  a  concert  was  marred  to  her  ear 
by  seeing  her  Ogre  talking  of  Beethoven  and  Mozart, 
chamber  music  and  bravura  music  in  Cecil's :  morning 
after  morning  gall  was  poured  into  her  luncheon  sherry, 
and  wormwood  mingled  in  her  vol-au-vent,  by  being  told, 
with  frank  mischief,  by  her  desired  daughter-in-law,  that 
she  "  had  seen  Mr.  Cheveley  leaning  on  the  rails,  smok- 
ing," when  she  had  taken  her  after-breakfast  canter. 

"  Chandos  Cheveley  getting  up  before  noon !  He  7nust 
mean  something  unusual ! "  thought  her  chaperone. 

"  Helena  has  set  her  heart  on  securing  Cecil  Ormsby  for 
Carruthers.  I  hope  she  may  succeed  better  than  she  did 
with  poor  Goodwood  last  season,"  laughed  Lady  Hautton, 
with  her  inimitable  sneer,  glancing  at  the  young  lady  in 
question  at  a  bazaar  in  Willis's  Rooms,  selling  rosebuds 
for  anything  she  liked  to  ask  for  them,  and  cigars  tied  up 
with  blue  ribbon  a  guinea  the  half-dozen,  at  the  Marabout 
stall.  Lady  Hautton  has  just  been  paying  a  charitable 
visit  to  St.  Cecilia's  Refuge,  of  which  she  was  head  pa- 
troness, where,  having  floated  in  with  much  benignity, 
been  worshipped  by  a  select  little  toady  troop,  adminis- 
tered spiritual  consolation  with  admirable  condescension, 
and  distributed  illuminated  texts  for  the  adornment  of 
the  walls  and  refreshment  of  the  souls,  she  was  naturally 
in  a  Cliristian  frame  of  mind  towards  lier  .'leighburs. 
Lady  Marabout  caught  the  remark  —  as  she  was  intend(id 
to  do  —  and  thought  it  not  quite  a  pleasant  one  ;  but,  my 
good  sir,  did  you  ever  know  those  estimable  people,  who 


146         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

Rpend  all  their  time  fitting  themselves  for  another  worlds 
ever  take  the  trouble  to  make  themselves  decently  agree- 
able in  the  present  one  ?  The  little  pleasant  courtesies, 
affabilities,  generosities,  and  kindnesses,  that  rub  the  edge 
off  the  flint-stones  of  the  Via  Dolorosa,  are  quite  beneath 
the  attention  of  Mary  the  Saint,  and  only  get  attended  to 
by  Martha  the  Worldly,  poor  butterfly  thing !  who  is  fit 
for  nothing  more  serviceable  and  profitable ! 

Lady  Marabout  had  set  her  heart  on  Cecil  Ormsby'a 
filling  that  post  of  honor  —  of  Avhich  no  living  woman 
was  deserving  in  her  opinion  —  that  of  "  Philip's  wife ;" 
an  individual  who  had  been,  for  so  many  years,  a  fond 
ideal,  a  haunting  anxiety,  and  a  dreaded  rival,  en  meme 
temps,  to  her  imagination.  She  ivas  a  little  bit  of  a 
match-maker :  she  had,  over  and  over  again,  arranged 
the  most  admirable  and  suitable  alliances  ;  alliances  that 
would  have  shamed  the  scepticism  of  the  world  in  general, 
as  to  the  desirability  of  the  holy  bonds,  and  brought  every 
refractory  man  to  the  steps  of  St.  George's ;  alliances, 
that  would  have  come  off  with  the  greatest  eclat,  but  for 
one  trifling  hindrance  and  difiiculty  —  namely,  the  people 
most  necessary  to  the  arrangements  could  never  by  any 
chance  be  brought  to  view  them  in  the  same  light,  and 
were  certain  to  give  her  diplomacy  the  croc-en-jambe  at 
the  very  moment  of  its  culminating  glory  and  finishing 
finesses.  She  was  a  little  bit  of  a  match-maker  —  most 
kind-hearted  women  are;  the  tinder  they  play  with  is 
much  better  left  alone,  but  they  don't  remember  that  I 
Like  children  in  a  forest,  they  think  they  '11  light  a  pretty 
bright  fire,  just  for  fun,  and  never  remember  Avhat  p, 
seared,  dreary  waste  that  fire  may  make,  or  what  a  pi*airio 
conflagration  it  may  stretch  into  before  it 's  stopped. 

"  Cecil  Ormsliy  is  a  terrible  flirt,"  said  Lady  Hautton, 
to  another  lady,  glancing  at  the  rapid  sale  of  the  rosebuds 
and  cigars,  the  bunches  of  violets  and  the  sprays  of  lilies 
of  tl'.e  valley,  in  which  that  brilliant  beauty  was  douig 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  147 

Bucli  thriving  business  at  such  extravagant  profits,  while 
the  five  Ladies  Hautton  presided  solemnly  over  articles 
of  gorgeous  splendor,  Avhich  threatened  to  be  left  on 
hand,  and  go  in  a  tombola,  as  ignomiuiously  as  a  beauty 
after  half  a  dozen  seasons,  left  unwooed  and  unwou, 
goes  to  the  pele-mele  raffle  of  German  Bad  society,  and 
is  sold  off'  at  the  finish  to  an  unknown  of  the  Line,  or  a 
Civil  Service  fellow,  with  five  hundred  a  year. 

"  Was  Cecil  a  flirt  ?"  wondered  Lady  Marabout.  Lady 
Marabout  was  fain  to  confess  to  herself  that  she  thought 
she  was — nay,  that  she  hoped  she  was.  If  it  was  n't  flirt- 
ing, that  way  in  which  she  smiled  on  Chandos  Cheveley, 
sold  him  cigarettes,  laughed  with  him  over  the  ices  and 
nectarines  he  fetched  her,  and  positively  invested  him  with 
the  cordon  d'honneur  of  a  little  bouquet  of  Fairy  roses, 
for  which  twenty  men  sued,  and  he  (give  Satan  his  due) 
did  not  even  ask  —  if  it  wasn't  flirting,  ivhat  was  itf 
Lady  Marabout  shivered  at  the  suggestion  ;  and  thougl 
she  was,  on  principle,  excessively  severe  on  flirting,  she 
could  be  very  glad  of  what  she  did  n't  approve,  when  it 
aided  her,  on  occasion  —  like  most  other  people  —  and 
would  so  far  have  agreed  with  Talleyrand,  as  to  welcome 
the  worst  crime  (of  coquetry)  as  far  less  a  sin  than  the 
unpardonable  blunder  of  encouraging  an  Ogre  ! 

"  I  can't  send  Cecil  away  from  the  stall,  as  if  she  were 
a  naughty  child,  and  I  can't  order  the  man  out  of  Willis's 
Rooms,"  thought  that  unhappy  and  fatally-worried  lady, 
as  she  presided  behind  her  stall,  an  emphatic  witness  of 
the  truth  of  the  poeticism  that  "  grief  smiles  and  gives 
no  sign,"  insomuch  as  she  looked  the  fairest,  sunniest, 
best-looking,  and  best-tempered  Dowager  that  ever 
shrouded  herself  in  Chantilly  lace. 

"I  do  think  those  ineligible,  detrimental,  objectionable 
persons  ought  not  to  be  let  loose  on  society  as  they  are," 
she  pondered  ;  "let  them  have  their  clubs  and  their  mess 
breakfasts,  their  Ascot  and  tlicir  Newmarket,  their  lana- 


148  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

luenet  parties  and  their  handicap  pigeon  matches,  if  they 
lilce;  but  to  have  them  come  amongst  us  as  they  do, 
asked  everywhere  if  they  happen  to  have  good  blood  and 
good  style,  free  to  v/altz  and  flirt  and  sing,  and  show  all 
sorts  of  attention  to  marriageable  girls,  while  all  the  while 
they  are  no  more  available  for  anything  serious  than  if 
they  were  club  stewards  or  cabmen  —  creatures  that  live 
on  their  fashionable  aroma,  and  can't  afford  to  buy  the 
very  bottles  of  bouquets  on  their  toilette-tables  —  fast 
men,  too,  who,  knowing  they  can  never  marry  themselves, 
make  a  practice  of  turning  marriage  into  ridicule,  and 
help  to  set  all  the  rich  men  more  dead  against  it  than 
they  are, — to  have  them  come  promiscuously  among  the 
very  best  people,  with  nothing  to  distinguish  them  as 
dangerous,  or  label  them  as  'ought  to  be  avoided,'  — it 's 
dreadful !  it 's  a  social  evil !  it  ought  to  be  remedied ! 
They  muzzle  dogs  in  June,  why  can't  they  label  Ogres  in 
the  season?  I  mustn't  send  poor  little  Bijou  out  for  a 
walk  in  Kensington  Gardens  without  a  string,  these  men 
ought  not  to  go  about  in  society  without  restriction :  a 
snaj)  of  Bijou's  does  n't  do  half  such  mischief  as  a  smile 
of  theirs!" 

And  Lady  Marabout  chatted  across  the  stall  to  his 
Grace  of  Doncaster,  and  entrapped  him  into  purchases 
of  fitting  ducal  prodigality,  and  smiled  on  scores  of  people 
she  did  n't  know,  in  pleasant  joro  tempore  expediency  that 
had,  like  most  expediency  in  our  day,  its  ultimate  goal  in 
their  purses  and  pockets,  and  longed  for  some  select  gen- 
darmerie to  clear  Willis's  Rooms  of  her  Cobra  Capella, 
and  kept  an  eye  all  the  while  on  Cecil  Ormsby  —  Cecil, 
selling  off  everything  on  the  stall  by  sheer  force  of  her 
bright  violet  eyes,  receiving  ten-pound  notes  for  guinea 
trifles,  making  her  Bourse  rise  as  high  as  she  iiked, 
courted  for  a  spray  of  mignonette  as  entreatingly  as  ever 
Law  was  courted  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix  for  Mississippi 
ijcrip,  served  by  a  Corps  d'EliLe,  in  whom  she  had  actually 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         149 

enlisted  Carrutliers,  Goodwood,  Fulke  Nugent,  Fitzbre- 
guet,  and  plenty  of  the  most  desirable  and  most  desired 
men  in  town,  yet  of  which — oh  the  obstinacy  of  women! 
she  had  actually  made  Chandos  Cheveley,  with  those 
wicked  little  Fairy  roses  in  his  coat,  positively  the  cap- 
tain and  the  chief! 

"It  is  enough  to  break  one's  heart!"  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  wincing  under  the  Hautton  glance,  which  she 
saw  only  the  plainer  because  she  wouldn't  see  it  at  all, 
and  which  said  with  horrible  distinctness,  "  There  is  that 
man,  who  can  hardly  keep  his  own  cab,  who  floats  on 
society  like  a  pleasure-boat,  without  rudder,  ballast,  or 
anchors,  of  whom  I  have  told  you,  in  virtuous  indigna- 
tion and  Christian  charity,  fifty  thousand  naughty  stories, 
who  visits  that  wicked,  notorious  little  Marechale,  who 
belongs  to  the  Amandine  set,  who  is  everything  that  he 
ought  not  and  nothing  that  he  ought  to  be,  who  has  n't 
a  penny  he  does  n't  make  by  a  well-made  betting-book  oi 
a  dashed-off  magazine  article, — there  he  is  flirting  all 
day  at  your  own  stall  with  Rosediamond's  daughter,  and 
you  have  n't  the  savoir  faire,  the  strength  of  will,  the  tact, 
the  proper  feeling,  to  stop  it!" 

To  all  of  which  charges  Lady  Marabout  humbly  bent 
her  head,  metaphorically  speaking,  and  writhed,  in  secret, 
under  the  glance  of  her  ancient  enemy,  while  she  talked 
and  laughed  with  the  Duke  of  Doncaster.  C.  Petronius, 
talking  epicureanisms  and  witicisms,  while  the  life-blood 
was  ebbing  away  at  every  breath,  was  nothing  to  the  suf- 
fering and  the  fortitude  of  Helena,  Lady  Marabout,  turn- 
ing a  smiling,  sunny,  tranquil  countenance  to  the  world 
in  front  of  her  stall,  while  that  world  could  see  Chandos 
Cheveley  admitted  behind  it! 

**I  must  do  something  to  stop  this!"  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  with  the  desperation  of  a  Charlotte  Corday. 

"Is  Cheveley  going  in  for  the  Ormsby  tin?"  said 
Amandine  to  Eyre  Lee.  "Best  thing  he  could  do,  eh? 
13* 


150         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

But  Lady  Tattersall  and  the  trustees  would  cut  up  rough, 
I  am  afraid." 

"  What  does  Chandos  mean  with  that  daughter  of 
Rosediaraond's?"  wondered  her  Grace,  annoyedly.  She 
had  had  him  some  time  in  her  own  rose  chains,  and  when 
ladies  have  driven  a  lover  long  in  that  sort  of  harness, 
they  could  double-thong  him  with  all  the  might  of  their 
little  hands,  if  they  fancy  he  is  trying  to  break  away. 

"  Is  Chandos  Cheveley  turning  fortune-hunter  ?  I  sup- 
pose he  would  like  Lady  Cecil's  money  to  pay  off  his 
Ascot  losses,"  said  Mrs.  Marechale,  with  a  malicious 
laugh.  At  Ascot,  the  day  before,  he  had  not  gone  near 
her  carriage ;  the  year  before  he  had  driven  her  down  in 
her  mail-phaeton :  what  would  there  be  too  black  to  say 
of  him  nowf 

"  I  must  do  something  to  stop  this ! "  determined  Lady 
Marabout,  driving  homewards,  and  glancing  at  Cecil 
Ormsby,  as  that  young  lady  lay  back  in  the  carriage,  a 
little  grave  and  dreamy  after  her  day's  campaign — signs 
of  the  times  terrifically  ominous  to  her  chaperone,  skilled 
in  reading  such  meteorological  omens.  But  how  was  the 
drag  to  be  put  on  the  wheel  ?  That  momentous  question 
absorbed  Lady  Marabout  through  her  toilette  that  even- 
ing, pursued  her  to  dinner,  haunted  her  through  two  soi- 
rees, kept  her  wide  awake  all  night,  woke  up  with  her  to 
her  early  coffee,  and  flavored  the  potted  tongue  and  the 
volaille  k  la  Richelieu  she  took  for  her  breakfast.  "  I 
can't  turn  the  man  out  of  town,  and  I  can't  tell  people 
to  strike  him  off  their  visiting-lists,  and  I  can't  shut 
Cecil  and  myself  up  in  this  house  as  if  it  were  a  convent, 
and,  as  to  speaking  to  her,  it  is  not  the  slightest  use.  She 
has  such  a  way  of  putting  things  that  one  can  never  deny 
their  truth,  or  reason  them  away,  as  one  can  with  other 
girls.  Fond  as  I  am  of  her,  she 's  fearfully  difficult  to 
manage.  Still  I  owe  it  as  a  sacred  duty  to  poor  Rose- 
diamond  and  the  General,  who  says  he  places  such  im- 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES  151 

plicit  confidence  in  mc,  to  interfere.  It  is  my  duty ;  it 
can't  be  helped.  I  must  speak  to  Chandos  Chevelcy  him- 
self. I  have  no  right  to  consult  my  own  scruples  when 
so  much  is  at  stake,"  valorously  determined  Lady  Mara- 
bout, resolved  to  follow  stern  moral  rules,  and,  when  right 
was  right,  to  let  "  le  diable  prendre  le  fruit." 

To  be  a  perfect  woman  of  the  world,  I  take  it,  ladies 
must  weed  out  early  in  life  all  such  little  contemptible 
weaknesses  as  a  dislike  to  wounding  other  people ;  and 
a  perfect  woman  of  the  world,  therefore.  Lady  Marabout 
was  not,  and  never  would  be.  Nohow  could  she  acquire 
Anne  Hautton's  invaluable  sneer  —  nohow  could  she 
imitate  that  estimable  pietist's  delightful  way  of  dropping 
little  icy-barbed  sentences,  under  which  I  have  known  the 
bravest  to  shrink,  frozen,  out  of  her  path.  Lady  Mara- 
bout was  grieved  if  she  broke  the  head  off  a  flower  need- 
lessly, and  she  could  not  cure  herself  of  the  same  linger- 
ing folly  in  disliking  to  say  a  thing  that  pained  anybody ; 
it  is  incidental  to  the  De  Boncoeur  blood  —  Carruthers 
inherits  it — and  I  have  seen  fellows  spared  through  it, 
whom  he  could  else  have  withered  into  the  depths  of  their 
boots  by  one  of  his  satirical  pcots.  So  she  did  not  go  to 
her  task  of  speaking  to  Chandos  Cheveley,  armed  at  all 
points  for  the  encounter,  and  taking  pleasure  in  feeling 
the  edge  of  her  rapier,  as  Lady  Hautton  would  have 
done.  The  Cobra  was  dangerous,  and  must  be  crushed, 
but  Lady  Marabout  did  not  very  much  relish  setting  her 
heel  on  it ;  it  was  a  glittering,  terrible,  much-to-be-feared, 
and  much-to-be-abused  serpent,  —  but  it  might  feel  all  the 
same,  you  ?ee. 

"  I  dislike  the  man  on  principle,  but  I  don't  want  to 
pain  him,"  she  thought,  sighing  for  the  Hautton  stern 
(tavoir  /aire  and  Achilles  impenetrability,  and  goading 
herself  on  with  the  remembrance  of  duty  and  General 
<)rmsby,  when  the  op])ortuuity  she  had  resolved  to  seek 
presented   itself  accidentally   at   a   breakfast   at  Lad) 


152         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

George  Frangipane's  toy  villa  at  Fulham,  and  she  found 
herself  comparatively  alone  in  the  rose-garden  with 
Cheveley,  for  once  without  Cecil's  terrible  violet  eyes 
upon  her. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  a  few  words  with  you,  Mr.  Cheve- 
ley?" she  asked,  in  her  blandest  manner — the  kindly 
hypocrite ! 

The  blow  must  be  dealt,  but  it  might  as  well  be  soft- 
ened with  a  few  chloroform  fumes,  and  not  struck  sav- 
agely with  an  iron-si:)iked  mace. 

Cheveley  raised  his  eyes. 

"  With  me  ?     With  the  greatest  pleasure ! " 

"  He  is  a  mere  fortune-hunter.  I  will  not  spare  him,  I 
am  resolved,"  determined  Lady  Marabout,  as  she  toyed 
with  her  parasol-handle,  remarked  incidentally  how  un- 
equalled Lady  George  was  in  roses,  especially  in  the  tea- 
rose,  and  dealt  blow  No.  1.  "  Mr.  Cheveley,  I  am  going 
to  speak  to  you  very  frankly.  I  consider  frankness  in  all 
things  best,  myself " 

Cheveley  bowed,  and  smiled  slightly. 

"  I  wish  he  would  answer,  it  would  make  it  so  much 
easier ;  he  will  only  look  at  one  with  those  eyes  of  his, 
and  certainly  they  are  splendid ! "  thought  Lady  Mara- 
bout, as  she  went  on  quickly,  on  the  same  principle  as  the 
Chasseurs  Indiens  approach  an  abattis  at  double-quick. 
"  When  Lord  Rosediamond  died  last  year  he  left,  as 
probably  you  are  aware,  his  daughter  in  my  sole  care ;  it 
was  a  great  responsibility  —  very  great  —  and  I  feel,  of 
course,  that  I  shall  have  to  answer  to  him  for  ray  dis- 
charge of  it," 

Lady  Marabout  did  n't  say  whether  Rosediamond  was 
accustomed  to  visit  her  per  medium,  and  hear  her  account 
of  her  stewardship  nightly  through  a  table-claw ;  but  we 
must  suppose  that  he  was.  Cheveley  bowed  again,  and 
did  n't  inquire,  not  being  spiritually  interested. 

"Why  won't  he  answer?"    thought  Lady   Marabout. 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  153 

"  That  I  have  not  been  blind  to  your  very  marked  atten- 
tion to  my  dear  Cecil,  I  think  you  must  be  aware,  Mr. 
Cheveley,  and  it  is  on  that  subject,  indeed,  that  I " 

"  Wished  to  speak  to  me  ?  I  understand  !"  said  Cheve- 
ley as  she  paused,  with  that  faint  smile,  half  sad,  half 
proud,  that  perplexed  Lady  Marabout.  "  You  are  about 
to  insinuate  to  me  gently  that  those  attentions  have  been 
exceedingly  distasteful  to  you,  exceedingly  unacceptable 
in  me ;  you  would  remind  me  that  Lady  Cecil  Ormsby  is 
a  beauty  and  an  heiress,  and  that  I  am  a  fortune-hunter, 
whose  designs  are  seen  through  and  motives  found  out ; 
you  would  hint  to  me  that  our  intercourse  must  cease :  is 
it  not  so?" 

Lady  Marabout,  cursed  with  that  obstinate,  ill-bred, 
unextinguishable  weakness  for  truth  incidental  and  ever 
fatal  to  the  De  Boncoeurs,  could  n't  say  that  it  was  not 
what  she  was  going  to  observe  to  him,  but  it  was  exceed- 
ingly unpleasant,  now  it  was  put  in  such  plain,  uncompli- 
mentary terms,  to  admit  to  the  man's  face  that  she  was 
about  to  tell  him  he  was  a  mercenary  schemer,  whose 
attentions  only  sprang  from  a  lawless  passion  for  the 
beaux  yeux  of  Cecil's  cassette. 

She  would  have  told  him  all  that,  and  much  more,  with 
greatest  dignity  and  effect,  if  he  had  n't  anticipated  her ; 
but  to  have  her  weapon  parried  before  it  was  fairly  out 
of  its  sheath  unnerved  her  arm  at  the  outset. 

"What  woxdd  Anne  Hautton  do?  Dear  me!  there 
never  was  anybody  perpetually  placed  in  such  wretched 
positions  as  I  am ! "  thought  Lady  Marabout,  as  she 
played  with  her  parasol,  and  murmured  something  not  very 
clear  relative  to  "  responsibility  "  and  "  not  desirable," 
two  words  as  infallibly  a  part  of  Lady  Marabout's  stock 
in  trade  as  a  sneer  at  the  "swells"  is  of  Punch's.  How 
she  sighed  for  some  cold,  nonchalant,  bitter  sentence,  such 
as  the  Hautton  repertoire  could  have  supplied !  how  she 
scorned  herself  for  her  own  weakness  and  lack  of  severity  I 


154  LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

But  she  would  not  have  reh'shed  hurting  a  burglar's  feel- 
ings, though  she  had  seen  him  in  the  very  act  of  stealing 
her  jewel-boxes,  by  taxing  him  with  the  tlieft ;  and  though 
the  Ogre  must  be  crushed,  the  crushing  began  to  give 
Lady  Marabout  neuralgic  twinges.  She  was  no  more 
able  to  say  the  stern  things  she  had  rehearsed  and  resolved 
upon,  than  she  was  able  to  stab  him  with  her  parasol,  or 
strangle  him  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  I  guessed  rightly  what  you  were  about  to  say  to  me  ?  " 
said  Cheveley,  who  seemed  somehow  or  other  to  have  taken 
all  the  talk  into  his  own  hands,  and  to  have  become  the 
master  of  the  position.  "  I  thought  so.  I  do  not  wonder 
at  your  construction  ;  I  cannot  blame  you  for  your  resolu- 
tion. Lady  Cecil  has  some  considerable  fortune,  they  say ; 
it  is  very  natural  that  you  should  have  imagined  a  man 
like  myself,  with  no  wealth  save  a  good  name,  which  only 
serves  to  make  lack  of  wealth  more  conspicuous,  incapa- 
ble of  seeking  her  society  for  any  better,  higher,  more 
disinterested  motive  than  that  of  her  money  ;  it  was  not 
charitable,  perhaps,  to  decide  unhesitatingly  that  it  was 
impossible  I  could  be  drawn  to  her  by  any  other  attrac- 
tion, that  it  was  imperative  I  must  be  dead  to  everything 
in  her  that  gives  her  a  nobler  and  a  higher  charm ;  but 
it  was  very  natural,  and  one  learns  never  to  hope  for 
the  miracle  of  a  charitable  judgment,  even  from  Lady 
Marabout!" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Cheveley,  indeed  you  mistake ! "  began 
Lady  Mai-about,  restlessly.  That  was  a  little  bit  of  a 
story,  he  did  n't  mistake  at  all ;  but  Lady  Marabout,  col- 
lapsing like  an  india-rubber  ball  under  the  prick  of  a 
sarcasm,  shivered  all  over  at  his  words,  his  voice,  his  slight 
sad  smile.  "  The  man  is  as  dreadful  as  Cecil,"  she 
thought;  "he  puts  things  so  horribly  clearly!" 

"  Mistake  ?  I  do  not  think  I  do.  You  have  thought 
all  this,  and  very  naturally;  but  now  hear  me  for  a  mo. 
ment.    I  have  sought  Lady  Cecil's  society,  that  is  perfectly 


LADY    MARABOUTS    TROUBLES.  155 

true ;  we  have  been  thrown  together  in  society,  very  often 
accidentally ;  sometimes,  I  admit,  through  my  own  seeking. 
Few  men  could  be  with  her  and  be  steeled  against  her.  I 
have  been  Avith  her  too  mucli ;  but  I  sought  her  at  iiri-t 
carelessly,  then  irresistibly  and  unconsciously,  never  with 
the  motive  you  attribute  to  me.  I  am  not  as  utterly 
beggared  as  you  deem  me,  but  neither  am  I  entirely  barren 
of  honor.  Believe  me,  Lady  Marabout,  my  pride  alone 
would  be  amply  sufficient  to  raise  a  barrier  between  me 
and  Cecil  stronger  than  any  that  could  be  opposed  to  me 
by  others.  Yesterday  I  casually  overheard  words  from 
Amandine  which  showed  me  that  society,  like  you,  has 
put  but  one  construction  on  the  attention  I  have  paid  her 
—  a  construction  I  might  have  foreseen  had  I  not  been 
unconsciously  fascinated,  and  forgetful,  for  the  time,  of 
the  infallible  whispers  of  my  kind  friends.  Her  fortune, 
I  know,  was  never  numbered  among  her  attractions  for 
me ;  so  little,  that  now  that  Amandine's  careless  words 
have  reminded  me  of  the  verdict  of  society,  I  shall 
neither  seek  her  nor  see  her  again.  Scores  of  men  marry 
women  for  their  money,  and  their  money  alone,  but  I  am 
not  one  of  them  ;  with  my  own  precarious  fortunes,  onlv 
escaping  ruin  because  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  tempt  ruin. 
I  would  never  take  advantage  of  any  interest  I  may  have 
excited  in  her,  to  speak  to  her  of  a  passion  that  the  world 
would  tell  her  was  only  another  name  for  avarice  and 
selfishness.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  with  her  longer, 
perhaps.  I  am  no  god  to  answer  for  my  self-control ; 
l)ut  you  need  not  fear ;  I  will  never  seek  her  love — never 
oven  tell  her  of  mine.  I  shall  leave  town  to-morrow ; 
what  /  may  suffer  matters  not.  Lady  Cecil  is  safe  from 
me !  Whatever  you  may  have  heard  of  my  faults,  follies, 
or  vices,  none  ever  told  you,  I  think,  that  I  b>-oke  my 
w«rd?" 

"  And  when  the  man  said  that,  my  dear  Philip,  I  assure 


156  LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

you  I  felt  as  guilty  as  if  I  had  done  him  some  horrible 
wrong ;  iie  stood  there  with  his  head  up,  looking  at  me 
with  his  sad  proud  eyes — and  they  are  beautiful !  —  till, 
positively,  I  could  almost  have  cried — I  could,  indeed, 
for  though  I  don't  like  him  on  principle,  I  could  n't  help 
pitying  him,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  in  a  subsequent  rela- 
tion of  the  scene  to  her  son,  "  Was  n't  it  a  terrible  posi- 
tion ?  I  was  as  near  as  possible  forgetting  everything  due 
to  poor  Rosediaraond,  and  saying  to  him  that  I  believed 
Cecil  liked  him  and  would  never  like  anybody  else,  but, 
thank  Heaven!  I  remembered  myself,  and  checked  my- 
self in  time.  If  it  had  been  anybody  but  Chandos  Cheve- 
ley,  I  should  really  have  admired  him,  he  spoke  so 
nobly !  AVhen  he  lifted  his  hat  and  left  me,  though  I 
ought  to  have  been  glad  (and  I  xvas  glad,  of  course)  that 
Cecil  would  be  free  from  the  society  of  anybody  so  ob- 
jectionable and  so  dangerous,  I  felt  wretched  for  him  —  I 
did  indeed.  It  is  so  hard  always  to  be  placed  in  such 
miserable  positions  ! " 

By  Avhich  you  will  perceive  that  the  triumphant  crush- 
ing of  Lady  Marabout's  Cobra  did  n't  afford  her  the  un- 
mixed gratification  she  had  anticipated. 

"  I  have  done  what  was  my  duty  to  poor  Rosediamond, 
and  what  General  Ormsby's  confidence  merited,"  she  sol- 
aced herself  that  day,  feeling  uncomfortably  and  cause- 
lessly guilty,  she  hardly  knew  why,  when  she  saw  Chan- 
dos Cheveley  keeping  sedulously  with  the  "Amandine 
set,"  and  read  in  Cecil's  tell-tale  face  wonder,  perplexity, 
and  regret  thereat,  till  the  Frangipane  fete  came  to  an 
end.  She  had  appeased  the  manes  of  the  late  Rosedia- 
mond, who,  to  her  imagination,  always  appeared  sitting 
up  aloft  keeping  watch  over  the  discharge  of  her  chape- 
rone's  duties,  but  she  had  a  secret  and  horrible  dread  that 
she  had  excited  the  wrath  of  Rosediamond's  daughter. 
She  had  driven  her  Ogre  off*  the  scene,  it  is  true,  but 
she  could  not  feel  that  she  had  altogether  come  off*  the 


IiADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  157 

b(jst  in  the  contest.  Anne  Hautton  had  congratulated 
her,  indeed,  on  having  "  acted  witli  decision  at  lad,"  bui 
then  she  had  marred  it  all  by  asking  if  Carruthers  was 
likely  to  be  engaged  to  Cecil  ?  And  Lady  Marabout  had 
been  forced  to  confess  he  was  not ;  Philip,  when  pressed 
by  her  that  very  morning  to  be  a  little  attentive  to  Cecil, 
having  shaken  his  head  and  laughed  : 

"  She 's  a  bewitching  creature,  mother,  but  she  don't 
bewitch  me  !  You  know  what  Shakspeare  says  of  wooing, 
wedding,  and  repentance.  I '  ve  no  fancy  for  the  inseparable 
trio ! " 

Altogether,  Lady  Marabout  was  far  from  peace  and  tran- 
quillity, though  the  Cobra  was  crushed,  as  she  drove  away 
from  the  Frangipane  breakfast,  and  she  was  little  nearer 
them  when  Cecil  turned  her  eyes  upon  her  with  a  question 
worse  to  Lady  Marabout's  ear  than  the  roar  of  a  Lancaster 
battery. 

"  What  have  you  said  to  him  ?" 

"My  dear  Cecil!  What  have  I  said  to  whom?"  re- 
turned Lady  Marabout,  with  Machiavellian  surprise. 

"You  know  well  enough.  Lady  Marabout!  What  have 
you  said  to  him — to  Mr.  Cheveley?" 

Cecil's  impetuosity  invariably  knocked  Lady  Marabout 
down  at  one  blow,  as  a  ball  knocks  down  the  pegs  at  lawn 
billiards.  She  rallied  after  the  shock,  but  not  successfully, 
and  tried  at  coldness  and  decision,  as  recommended  by 
Hautton  prescriptions. 

"  My  dear  Cecil,  I  have  said  to  him  what  I  think  it  my 
duty  to  say  to  him.     Responsible  as  I  am  for  you " 

"  Responsible  for  me,  Lady  Marabout  ?  Indeed  you  are 
not.  I  am  responsible  for  myself!"  interrupted  Lady 
Cecil,  with  that  haughty  arch  of  her  eyebrows  and  that 
flush  on  her  face  before  which  Lady  Marabout  was  power- 
less.    "  What  have  you  said  to  him  ?     I  will  know  !  " 

"  I  said  very  little  to  him,  indeed,  my  dear  ;  he  said  it 
all  himself." 
14 


158         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

"  What  did  he  say  himself?" 

"I  must  tell  her  —  she  is  so  dreadfully  persistent," 
thought  the  unhappy  and  badgered  Peeress ;  and  tell  her 
she  did,  being  a  means  of  lessening  tlie  young  lady's  inter- 
est in  the  subject  of  discussion  as  little  judicious  as  she 
could  well  have  hit  upon. 

Lady  Cecil  listened,  silent  for  once,  shading  her  face 
•with  her  parasol,  shading  the  tears  that  gathered  on  her 
lashes  and  rolled  down  her  delicate  flushed  cheeks,  at  the 
recital  of  Chandos  Cheveley's  words,  from  her  chaperone's 
sight. 

Lady  Marabout  gathered  courage  from  the  tranquillity 
with  which  her  recital  was  heard. 

"  You  see,  my  love,  Chandos  Cheveley's  own  honor 
points  in  the  same  direction  with  my  judgment,"  she 
wound  up,  in  conclusion.  "  He  has  acted  rightly  at  last, 
I  allow,  and  if  you  —  if  you  have  for  the  moment  felt  a 
tinge  of  wanner  interest  in  him  —  if  you  have  been  taken 
by  the  fascination  of  his  manner,  and  invested  him  with  a 
young  girl's  romance,  you  will  soon  see  with  us  how  infi- 
nitely better  it  is  that  you  should  part,  and  how  impossible 
it  is  that " 

Lady  Cecil's  eyes  flashed  such  fire  through  their  tears, 
that  Lady  Marabout  stopped,  collapsed  and  paralyzed. 

"  It  is  by  such  advice  as  that  you  repay  his  nobility, 
his  generosity,  his  honor!  —  it  is  by  such  words  as  those 
you  reward  him  for  acting  as  not  one  man  in  a  hundred 
would  have  acted !  Hush,  hush.  Lady  Marabout,  I  thought 
better  of  you  !  " 

"Good  Heavens!  where  will  it  e7idf"  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  distractedly,  as  Rosediamond's  wayward  daugh- 
ter sprang  down  at  the  door  with  a  flush  in  her  face,  and 
a  contemptuous  auger  in  her  eyes,  that  made  Bijou,  jump 
ing  on  her,  stop,  stare,  and  whine  in  canine  dismay. 

"And  I  fancied  she  was  listening  passively!"  thought 
Lady  Marabout. 


LADY    MAUAItOUT's    TROUBLES.  159 

"  Well !  the  man  is  gone  to-day,  that  is  one  comfort.  I 
am  very  thankful  I  acted  as  I  did,"  reasoned  that  ever- 
worried  lady  in  her  boudoir  the  next  morning.  "  I  am 
afraid  Cecil  is  really  very  fond  of  him,  there  were  such 
black  shadows  under  her  eyes  at  breakfast,  poor  child ! 
But  it  is  much  better  as  it  is  —  much  better.  I  should 
never  have  held  up  my  head  again  if  I  had  allowed  her  to 
make  such  a  disadvantageous  alliance.  I  can  hardly  beat 
to  think  of  what  would  have  been  said,  even  now  the  dangei 
is  over! " 

While  Lady  Marabout  was  thus  comforting  herself  ovei 
her  embroidery  silks,  Cecil  Ormsby  was  pacing  into  the 
Park,  with  old  Twitters  the  groom  ten  yards  behind  her, 
taking  her  early  ride  before  the  world  was  up  —  it  was  only 
eleven  o'clock  ;  Cecil  had  been  used  to  early  rising,  and 
would  never  leave  it  off,  having  discovered  some  recipe  that 
made  her  independent  of  ordinary  mortals'  quantum  of 
sleep. 

"  Surely  he  will  be  here  this  morning  to  see  me  for  the 
last  time,"  thought  that  young  lady,  as  she  paced  up  the 
New  Ride  under  the  Kensington  Gardens  trees,  with  her 
heart  beating  quickly  under  the  gold  aiglettes  of  her  riding- 
jacket. 

"I  must  see  her  once  more,  and  then "  thought 

Chandos  Cheveley,  as  he  leaned  against  the  rails,  smoking, 
as  he  had  done  scores  of  mornings  before.  His  man  had 
packed  his  things  ;  his  hansom  was  waiting  at  the  gates 
to  take  him  to  the  station,  and  his  poi'tmauteau  was  let- 
tered "  Ischl."  He  had  only  come  to  take  one  last  look 
of  the  face  that  haunted  him  as  no  other  had  ever  suc- 
ceeded in  doing.  The  ring  of  a  horse's  hoof  fell  on  his 
ear.  There  she  came,  on  her  roan  hack,  with  the  sun 
glancing  off  her  chestnut  hair.  He  looked  up  to  bow  to 
lier  as  she  passed  on,  for  the  Ride  had  never  been  a  ren- 
dezvous for  more  tlian  a  bow  (Cecil's  insurrectionary 
tactics  had  alwavs  been  carried  on  before  Lady  JNlara- 


160  LADY    MARABOUT  8    TROUBLES. 

bout's  face),  but  the  roan  was  pulled  up  by  him  that 
morning  for  the  very  first  time,  and  Cecil's  eyes  fell  on 
him  tlirough  their  lashes. 

"  Mr.  Cheveley  —  is  it  true  you  are  going  out  of  town?" 
"  Quite  true." 

If  her  voice  quivered  as  she  asked  the  question,  he 
barely  kept  his  own  from  doing  the  same  as  he  answered  it. 
*'  Will  you  be  gone  long?" 
"  Till  next  season,  at  earliest." 

His  promise  to  Lady  Marabout  was  hard  to  keep !  He 
would  not  have  trusted  his  strength  if  he  had  known  she 
would  have  done  more  than  canter  on  with  her  usual  bow 
and  smile. 

Cecil  was  silent.     The  groom  waited  like  a  statue  his 
ten  yards  behind  them.     She  played  with  her  reins  ner- 
vously, the  color  coming  and  going  painfully  in  her  face. 
"  Lady  Marabout  told  me  of — of  some  conversation  you 
had  with  her  yesterday?" 

Low  as  the  words  were,  Cheveley  heard  them,  and  his 
hand,  as  it  lay  on  the  rails,  shook  like  a  girl's. 

Cecil  was  silent  again  ;  she  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  full 
of  unshed  tears,  as  the  color  burned  in  her  face,  and  she 
drooped  her  head  almost  to  a  level  with  her  hands  as  they 
played  with  the  reins. 

"She  told  me — you " 

She  stopped  again.  Cecil  was  new  to  making  proposals, 
though  not  to  rejecting  them.  Cheveley  set  his  teeth  to 
keep  in  the  words  that  rushed  to  his  lips,  and  Cecil  saw 
the  struggle  as  she  bent  her  head  lower  and  lower  to  the 
saddle,  and  twisted  the  reins  into  a  Gordian  knot. 

"  Do  you  —  must  we — why  should " 

Fragmentary  monosyllables  enough,  but  sufficient  to  fell 
his  strength. 

"  For  God's  sake  do  not  tempt  me ! "  he  muttered.  "  You 

little  know " 

"  1  knuw  all ! "  she  whispered  softly. 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  161 

"You  cannot!  My  worthless  life! — my  honor  I  I 
could  not  take  such  a  sacrifice,  I  would  not ! " 

"But  —  if  my  peace " 

She  could  not  end  her  phrase,  yet  it  said  enough  ; — his 
hand  closed  on  hers. 

"  Your  peace !  Good  God  !  in  my  hands !  I  stay ; 
then — let  the  world  say  what  it  likes  !  " 

"  Drive  back ;  I  have  changed  my  mind  about  going 
abroad  to-day,"  said  Cheveley,  as  he  got  into  his  hansom 
at  Albert  Gate. 

"  How  soon  she  has  got  over  it !  Girls  do,"  thought 
Lady  Marabout,  as  Cecil  Ormsby  came  in  from  her  ride 
with  the  brightest  bloom  on  her  cheeks  a  June  breeze  ever 
fanned  there.  She  laid  her  hat  on  the  table,  flung  her 
gauntlets  at  Bijou,  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  Lady 
Marabout,  a  saucy  smile  on  her  face,  though  her  lashes 
were  wet. 

"  Dear  Lady  Marabout,  I  can  forgive  you  now,  but  you 
will  never  forgive  me !  " 

Lady  Marabout  turned  white  as  her  point-lace  cap, 
gave  a  little  gasp  of  paralyzed  terror,  and  pushed  back 
her  chair  as  though  a  shell  had  exploded  on  the  hearth-rug. 

"  Cecil !     Good  Heaven  !  —  you  don't  mean " 

"  Yes  I  do,"  said  Cecil,  with  a  fresh  access  of  color, 
and  a  low,  soft  laugh. 

Lady  Marabout  gasped  again  for  breath  : 

"General  Ormsby!"  was  all  she  could  ejaculate. 

"  General  Ormsby  ?  What  of  him  ?  Did  you  evei 
know  uncle  Johnnie  refuse  to  please  me?  And  if  my 
money  be  to  interfere  Avith  my  happiness,  and  not  pro- 
mote it,  as  I  conceive  it  its  duty  and  purpose  to  do,  why, 
I  am  of  age  in  July,  you  know,  and  I  shall  make  a  deed 
of  gift  of  it  all  to  the  Soldiers'  Home  or  the  Wellington 
College,  and  there  is  only  one  person  who  will  care  for 
me  then." 

U*  L 


162         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

Lady  Cecil  was  quite  capable  of  carrying  her  threat 
into  execution,  and  Lady  Cecil  had  her  own  way  accord- 
ingly, as  she  had  had  it  from  her  babyhood. 

"  I  shall  never  hold  up  my  head  again !  And  what  a 
horrible  triumph  for  Anne  Hautton !  I  am  ahvays  the 
victim — always!"  said  Lady  Marabout,  that  day  two 
months,  when  the  last  guest  at  Cecil  Ormsby's  wedding 
dejeuner  had  rolled  away  from  the  house.  "  A  girl  who 
might  have  married  anybody,  Philip ;  she  refused  twenty 
oilers  this  season — she  did,  indeed !  It  is  heart-breaking, 
say  what  you  like  ;  you  need  n't  laugh,  it  is.  Why  did  I 
offer  them  Feruditton  for  this  month,  you  say,  if  I  didn't 
countenance  the  alliance?  Nonsense!  that  is  nothing  to 
the  purpose.  Of  course,  I  seemed  to  countenance  it  to  a 
degree,  for  Cecil's  sake,  and  I  admire  Chandos  Cheveley, 
I  confess  (at  least  I  should  do,  if  I  did  n't  dislike  his  class 
on  principle)  ;  but,  say  what  you  like,  Philip,  it  is  the 
most  terrible  thing  that  could  have  happened  for  vie. 
Those  men  otight  to  be  labelled,  or  muzzled,  or  done  some- 
thing with,  and  not  be  let  loose  on  society  as  they  are. 
He  has  a  noble  nature,  you  say.  I  don't  say  anything 
against  his  nature !  She  Avorships  him  ?  Well,  I  know 
she  does.  What  is  that  to  the  point  ?  He  will  make  her 
happy  ?  I  am  sure  he  will.  He  has  the  gentlest  way 
with  her  possible.  But  how  does  that  console  mef  Think 
what  you  feel  when  an  outsider,  as  you  call  it,  beats  all 
the  favorites,  upsets  all  your  betting-books,  and  carries 
off  the  Doncaster  Cup,  and  then  realize,  if  you  've  any 
humanity  in  you,  what  we  feel  under  such  a  trial  as  this 
is  to  me!  Only  to  think  what  Anne  Hautton  will 
always  say ! " 

Lady  Marabout  is  not  the  only  person  to  whom  the 
first  thought,  the  most  dreaded  ghost,  the  ghastliest  skel- 
eton, the  direst  aggravation,  the  sharpest  dagger- thrust. 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 


163 


under  all  troubles,  is  the  remembrance  of  that  one  omnip- 
otent Ogre — "Qu'en  diPwA-t-on?" 

"  Laugh  at  her,  mother,"  counselled  Carruthers ;  and, 
amis  lecteurs,  I  pass  on  his  advice  to  you  as  the  best  and 
sole  bowstring  for  strangling  the  ogre  in  question,  whicJ' 
is  the  grimmest  we  have  in  all  Bogey dom. 


^ 

^^H 

^ 

^m 

LADY  MARABOUT'S  TROUBLES; 

OR, 

THE  WORRIES  OF  A  CIIAPERONE. 


IN  THREE  SEASONS. 
SEASON   THE   THIRD. THE   CLIMAX. 

|Y  dear  Philip,  the  most  unfortunate  thing  has 
happened,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  one  morning- 
"  really  the  greatest  contretemps  that  could  have 
occurred.     I  suppose  I  never  am  to  be  quiet ! " 

"  What 's  the  row  now,  madre  carissima  ?  "  asked  her  son. 

"  It  is  no  row,  but  it  is  an  annoyance.  You  have  heard 
me  speak  of  my  poor  dear  friend  Mrs.  Montolieu ;  you 
know  she  married  unhappily,  poor  thing,  to  a  dreadful 
creature,  something  in  a  West  India  regiment — nobody 
at  all.  It  is  very  odd,  and  it  is  very  wrong,  and  there 
must  be  a  great  mistake  somewhere,  but  certainly  most 
marriages  are  unhapjDy." 

"  And  yet  you  are  always  recommending  the  institu- 
tion !  What  an  extraordinary  obstinacy  and  opticism, 
my  dear  mother !  I  suppose  you  do  it  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple as  nurses  recommend  children  nasty  medicines,  or 
as  old  Levett  used  to  tender  me  dry  biscuit  satis  confiture: 
'  'Tis  n't  so  nice  as  marmalade,  I  know,  Master  Philip,  but 
then,  dear,  it 's  so  wholesome ! ' " 

(164) 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  165 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Philip,"  cried  Lady  Marabout; 
"  I  don't  naean  it  in  that  sense  at  all,  and  you  know  I 
don't.  If  poor  Lilla  Montolieu  is  unhappy,  I  am  sure  it 
is  all  her  abominable  odious  husband's  fault ;  she  is  the 
sweetest  creature  possible.  But  she  has  a  daughter,  and 
concerning  that  daughter  she  wrote  to  me  about  a  month 
ago,  and  —  I  never  was  more  vexed  in  my  life — she 
wants  me  to  bring  her  out  this  season," 

"  A  victim  again !  My  poor  dear  mother,  you  certainly 
deserve  a  Belgravian  testimonial ;  you  shall  have  a  statue 
set  up  in  Lowndes  Square  commemorative  of  the  heroic 
endurance  of  a  chaperone's  existence,  subscribed  for 
gratefully  by  the  girls  you  married  well,  and  penitenti- 
ally  by  the  girls  you  could  n't  marry  at  all." 

Lady  Marabout  laughed  a  little,  but  sighed  again : 

"  '  It  is  fun  to  you,  but  it  is  death  to  me' " 

"As  the  women  say  when  we  flirt  with  them,"  interpo- 
lated Carruthers. 

"  You  see,  poor  dear  Lilla  did  n't  know  what  to  do. 
There  she  is,  in  that  miserable  island  with  the  unpro- 
nounceable name  that  the  man  is  governor  of;  shut  out 
of  all  society,  with  nobody  to  marry  this  girl  to  if  she 
had  her  there,  except  their  secretary,  or  a  West  Indian 
planter.  Of  course,  no  mother  would  ruin  her  daughter's 
prospects,  and  take  her  into  such  an  out-of-the-world 
corner.  She  knew  no  one  so  well  as  myself,  and  so  to  me 
she  applied.  She  is  the  sweetest  creature !  I  would  do 
anything  to  oblige  or  please  her,  but  I  can't  help  being 
very  soi'ry  she  has  pounced  upon  me.  And  I  don't  the 
least  know  what  this  girl  is  like,  not  even  whether  she  is 
presentable.  I  dare  say  she  was  petted  and  spoiled  iu 
that  lazy,  luxurious,  tropical  life  when  she  was  little,  and 
she  has  been  brought  up  the  last  few  years  in  a  convent 
iu  France,  the  very  last  education  /  should  choose  for  a 
girl.  Fancy,  if  I  should  find  her  an  ignorant,  unformed 
hoyden,  or  a  lethargic,  overgrown  child,  or  an  artificial 


1<J6  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

French  girl,  who  goes  to  confession  every  day,  and  car- 
ries on  twenty  undiscoverable  love  affairs  —  fiincy,  if  she 
should  be  ugly,  or  awkward,  or  brusque,  or  gauche,  as 
ten  to  one  she  will  be — fancy,  if  I  find  her  utterly  unpre- 
sentable!—  what  in  the  world  shall  I  do?" 

"  Decline  her,"  suggested  Carruthers.  "  I  would  n't 
have  a  horse  put  in  my  tilbury  that  I  'd  never  seen,  and 
risk  driving  a  simvined,  wall-eyed,  underbred  brute 
through  the  Park ;  and  I  suppose  the  ignominy  of  the 
d6but  would  be  to  you  much  what  the  ignominy  of  such 
a  turn-out  would  be  to  me." 

"  Decline  her  ?  I  can't,  ray  dear  Philip  !  I  agreed  to 
have  her  a  mouth  ago.  I  have  never  seen  you  to  tell  you 
till  now,  you  know;  you  've  been  so  sworn  to  Newmarket 
all  through  the  Spring  Meetings.  Decline  her?  she  comes 
to-night ! " 

"  Comes  to-night  ?"  laughed  Carruthers.  "  All  is  lost, 
then.  We  shall  see  the  Countess  of  Marabout  moving 
through  London  society  with  a  West  Indian,  who  has  a 
skin  like  Othello  ;  has  as  much  idea  of  manners  as  a  house- 
maid that  suddenly  turns  out  an  heiress,  and  is  invited  by 
people  to  whom  she  yesterday  carried  up  their  hot  water ; 
reflects  indelible  disgrace  on  her  chaperone  by  gaucheries 
unparalleled  ;  throws  glass  or  silver  missiles  at  Soames's 
head  when  he  does  n't  wait  upon  her  at  luncheon  to 
her  liking,  as  she  has  been  accustomed  to  do  at  the 
negroes " 

"  Philip,  pray  don't!"  cried  Lady  Marabout,  piteously 

"  Or,  we  shall  welcome  under  the  Marabout  wing  » 
young  lady  fresh  from  convent  walls  and  pensionnairo 
flirtations,  who  astonishes  a  dinner-party  by  only  takinp 
the  first  course,  on  the  score  of  jours  maigres  and  con- 
scientious scru})les  ;  who  is  visited  by  reverends  peres  from 
Farm  Street,  and  fills  your  drawing-room  with  High 
Church  curates,  whom  she  tries  to  draw  over  from  their 
'mother's'  to  their  'sister's'  open  arms;  who  goes  every 


LADi'    MARABOUT'tJ    TROLBLES.  167 

day  to  early  morning  mass  instead  of  taking  an  early 
morning  canter,  and  who,  when  invited  to  sing  at  a  soiree 
musicale,  begins  '  Sancta  Maria  adorata  ! '  " 

"  Philip,  douH  !  "  cried  Lady  Marabout.  "  Bark  at  him, 
Bijou,  the  heartless  man!  It  is  as  likely  as  not  little 
Montolieu  may  realize  one  of  your  horrible  sketches.  Ah, 
Philip,  you  don't  know  what  the  worries  of  a  chaperone 
are!" 

"Thank  Pleaven,  no!  "  laughed  Carruthers. 

"  It  is  easy  to  make  a  joke  of  it,  and  very  tempting,  I 
dare  say — one's  woes  always  are  amusing  to  other  people, 
they  don't  feel  the  smart  themselves,  and  only  laugh  at  the 
grimace  it  forces  from  one — but  I  can  tell  you,  Philip,  it  is 
anything  put  a  pleasant  prospect  to  have  to  go  about  in 
society  with  a  girl  one  may  be  ashamed  of! — I  don't  know 
anything  more  trying ;  I  would  as  soon  wear  paste  dia- 
monds as  introduce  a  girl  that  is  not  perfectly  good  style." 

"But  why  not  have  thought  of  all  this  in  time?" 

Lady  Marabout  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  curled 
Bijou's  ears,  with  a  sigh. 

"  My  dear  Philip,  if  everybody  always  thought  of  things 
in  time,  would  there  be  any  follies  committed  at  all  ?  It 's 
precisely  because  repentance  comes  too  late,  that  repentance 
is  such  a  horrible  wasp,  with  such  a  merciless  sting.  Besides^ 
coiild  I  refuse  jioor  Lilla  Montolieu,  unhappy  as  she  is  with 
that  bear  of  a  man?" 

"  I  never  felt  more  anxious  in  my  life,"  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  as  she  sat  before  the  fire  in  her  drawing-room  — 
it  was  a  chilly  April  day — stirring  tlie  cream  into  her  pre- 
prandial  cup  of  tea,  resting  one  of  her  small  satin-slippered 
feet  on  Bijou's  back,  while  the  firelight  sparkled  on  the 
Dresden  figures,  the  statuettes,  the  fifty  thousand  costly 
trifles,  in  which  the  Marabout  rooms  equalled  any  in  Bel- 
gravia.  "  I  never  felt  more  anxious  —  noton  any  of  Philip's 
dreadful  yac^hting  expeditions,  nor  even  wlien  he  went  that 
perilous  exploring  tour  into  Aru  bia  Descrta,  I  do  think.  If 


16}>  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

she  should  be  unpresentable  —  and  then  poor  dear  Lilla's 
was  not  much  of  a  match,  and  the  girl  will  not  have  a 
sou,  she  tells  me  frankly ;  I  can  hardly  hope  to  do  any- 
thing for  her.  There  is  one  thing,  she  will  not  be  a  re- 
sponsibility like  Valencia  or  Cecil,  and  what  would  have 
been  a  bad  match  for  thevi  will  be  a  good  one  for  her. 
She  must  accept  the  first  offer  made  her,  if  she  have  any 
at  all,  which  will  be  very  doubtful ;  few  Benedicts  bow 
to  Beatrices  nowadays,  unless  Beatrice  is  a  good  '  invest- 
ment,' as  they  call  it.  She  will  soon  be  here.  That  is  the 
carriage  now  stopped,  I  do  think.  How  anxious  I  feel ! 
Really  it  can't  be  worse  for  a  Turkish  bridegroom  never 
to  see  his  wife's  face  till  after  the  ceremony  than  it  is  for 
one  not  to  have  seen  a  girl  till  one  has  to  introduce  her. 
Tf  she  should  n't  be  good  style  !  " 

And  Lady  Marabout's  heart  palpitated,  possibly  pro- 
phetically, as  she  set  down  her  little  Sfevres  cup  and  rose 
out  of  her  arm-chair,  with  Bijou  shaking  his  silver  collar 
and  bells,  to  welcome  the  new  inmate  of  Lowndes  Square, 
with  her  sunny  smile  and  her  kindly  voice,  and  her  soft 
beaming  eyes,  which,  as  I  have  often  stated,  would  have 
made  Lady  Marabout  look  amiable  at  an  Abruz7,i  bandit 
who  had  demanded  her  purse,  or  an  executioner  who  had 
led  her  out  to  capital  punishment,  and  now  made  her  ra- 
diate, warm  and  bright,  on  a  guest  whose  advent  she 
dreaded.  Hypocrisy,  you  say.  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Hypoc- 
risy may  be  eminently  courteous,  but  take  my  word  for  it, 
it's  never  cordial!  There  are  natures  who  throw  such 
golden  rays  around  them  naturally,  as  there  are  others 
who  think  brusquerie  and  acidity  cardinal  virtues,  and 
deal  them  out  as  points  of  conscience ;  are  there  not  sun- 
beams that  shine  kindly  alike  on  fragrant  violet  tufts  and 
barren  brambles,  velvet  lawns  and  muddy  trottoirs  ?  are 
there  not  hail-clouds  that  send  jagged  points  of  ice  on  all 
the  world  pele-m61e,  as  mercilessly  on  the  broken  rose  as 
on  the  granite  boulder  ? 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         169 

"  She  is  good  style,  thank  Heaven ! "  thought  Lady 
Marabout,  as  she  went  forward,  with  her  white  soft  hands, 
their  jewels  flashing  in  the  light,  outstretched  in  welcome. 
"  My  dear  child,  how  much  you  are  like  your  mother  I 
You  must  let  me  be  fond  of  you  for  her  sake,  first,  and 
then  —  for  your  own  !" 

The  conventional  thought  did  not  make  the  cordial  ut- 
terance insincere.  The  two  ran  in  couples  —  we  often 
drive  such  pairs,  every  one  of  us  —  and  if  they  entail  in- 
sincerity, Veritas,  vale  ! 

"  Madre  mia,  I  called  to  inquire  if  you  have  survived 
the  anxiety  of  last  night,  and  to  know  what  Jewwe  sauvage 
or  fair  religieuse  you  may  have  had  sent  you  for  the  gal- 
vanizing of  Belgravia?"  said  Carruthers,  paying  his  ac- 
customed visit  in  his  mother's  boudoir,  and  throwing 
macaroons  at  Bijou's  nose. 

"  My  dear  Philip,  I  hardly  know ;  she  puzzles  me.  She 's 
what,  if  she  were  a  man,  I  should  classify  as  a  detrimental." 

"  Is  she  awkward  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Perfect  manners,  wherever  she 
learned  them." 

"Brusque?" 

"  Soft  as  a  gazelle.     Very  like  her  mother." 

"  Brown  ?  " 

"  Fair  as  that  statuette,  with  a  beautiful  bloom  ;  lovely 
gold  hair,  too,  and  hazel  eyes." 

"  What  are  the  shortcomings,  then?" 

"  There  are  none ;  and  it 's  that  that  puzzles  me.  She'a 
been  six  years  in  that  convent,  and  yet,  I  do  assure  you, 
her  style  is  perfect.  She's  hardly  eighteen,  but  she's  tho 
air  of  the  best  society.  She  is — a — well,  almost  nobody, 
aa  people  rank  now,  you  know,  for  poor  dear  Lilla's  mar- 
riage was  not  what  she  should  have  made,  but  the  girl 
might  be  a  royal  duke's  daughter  for  manner." 

"  A  premature  artificial/emme  diimonde?  Bah  !  nothing 
more  odious,"  said  Carruthers,  poising  a  macaroon  on  Pan* 
15 


no  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

dore's  nose.    "Make  ready! — present!  —  fire!   Thero's  a 
good  dog ! " 

"  No,  nothing  of  that  sort :  very  natural,  frank,  viva- 
cious. Nothing  artificial  about  her ;  very  charming  in- 
deed! But  she  might  be  a  young  Countess,  the  queen  of 
a  monde  rather  than  a  young  girl  just  out  of  a  French 
convent ;  and,  you  know,  my  dear  Philip,  that  sort  of  wit 
and  nonchalance  may  be  admirable  for  Cecil  Cheveley, 
assured  of  her  position,  but  they  're  dangerous  to  a  girl 
like  this  Flora  Montolieu  :  they  will  make  people  remark 
her  and  ask  who  she  is,  and  try  to  pull  her  to  pieces,  if 
they  don't  find  her  somebody  they  dare  not  hit.  I  would 
much  rather  she  were  of  the  general  pattern,  pleasing,  but 
nothing  remarkable,  well-bred,  but  nothing  to  envy,  thor- 
oughly educated,  but  monosyllabic  in  society  ;  such  a 
girl  as  that  passes  among  all  the  rest,  suits  mediocre  men 
(and  the  majority  of  men  are  mediocre,  you  know,  my 
dear  Philip),  and  pleases  women  because  she  is  a  nice  girl, 
and  no  rival ;  but  this  little  Montolieu " 

And  Lady  Marabout  sighed  with  a  prescience  of  com- 
ing troubles,  while  Carruthers  laughed  and  rose. 

"  Will  worry  your  life  out !  I  must  go,  for  I  have  to 
git  in  court-martial  at  two  (for  a  mere  trifle,  a  deuced  bore 
to  us, but  le  service  oblige!),  so  I  shall  escape  introduction 
to  your  little  Montolieu  to-day.  Why  will  you  fill  your 
house  with  girls,  my  dear  mother?  —  it  is  fifty  times  more 
agreeable  when  you  are  reigning  alone.  Henceforth,  I. 
can't  come  in  to  lunch  with  you  without  going  through 
the  formula  of  a  mild  flirtation — women  think  you  so  ill- 
natured  if  you  don't  flirt  a  little  with  them,  that  amiable 
men  like  myself  have  n't  strength  of  mind  to  refuse.  You 
should  keej)  your  house  an  ojien  sanctuary  for  me,  when 
you  know  I  've  no  other  in  London  except  when  I  retreat 
into  White's  and  the  U.  S. !  " 

"  She  puzzles  me !  "  pondered  Lady  Marabout,  as  Des- 
prdaux  disroljed  her  that  night.     "  I  always  am  to  b» 


LiVDY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  171 

puzzled,  I  think  !  I  never  ca7i  have  one  of  those  quiet, 
mediocre,  well-mannered,  remarkable-for-nothing  girls, 
who  have  no  idiosyncrasies  and  give  nobody  any  trouble; 
one  marries  them  safely  to  some  second-rate  man;  nobody 
admires  them,  and  nobody  dislikes  them ;  they  're  to  so- 
ciety what  neutral  tint  is  among  body-colors,  or  rather 
what  grays  are  among  dresses,  inoffensive,  unimpeachable, 
always  look  ladylike,  but  never  look  brilliant ;  colorless 
dresses  are  very  useful,  and  so  are  characterless  girls;  and 
I  dare  say  the  draper  would  tell  us  the  grays  in  the  long 
run  are  the  easiest  to  sell,  as  the  girls  are  to  marry  ;  tliey 
please  the  commonplace  taste  of  the  generality,  and  do 
for  every-day  wear !  Flora  Montolieu  puzzles  me ;  she 
is  very  charming,  very  striking,  very  lovable,  but  she 
puzzles  me !  I  have  a  presentiment  that  that  child  will 
give  me  a  world  of  anxiety,  an  infinitude  of  trouble ! " 

And  Lady  Marabout  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  not 
the  happier  that  Flora  Montolieu  was  lying  asleep  in  the 
room  next  her,  dreaming  of  the  wild-vine  shadows  and 
ihe  night-blooming  flowers  of  her  native  tropics,  under  the 
rose-curtains  of  her  new  home  in  Lowndes  Square,  already 
a  burden  on  the  soul  and  a  responsibility  on  the  mind  of 
that  home's  most  genial  and  generous  mistress. 

"  If  she  were  a  man,  I  should  certainly  call  her  a  detri- 
mental," said  Lady  Marabout,  after  a  more  deliberate 
study  of  her  charge.  "You  know,  my  dear  Philip,  the 
sort  of  man  one  calls  detrimental ;  attractive  enough  to 
do  a  great  deal  of  damage,  and  ineligible  enough  to  make 
the  damage  very  unacceptable:  handsome  and  winning, 
but  a  younger  son,  or  a  something  nobody  wants ;  a  de- 
lightful flirtation,  but  a  terrible  alliance  ;  you  know  what 
t  mean  !  Well,  that  is  just  what  this  little  Montolieu  is 
in  our  sex ;  I  am  quite  sure  it  is  what  she  will  be  con.'^id- 
ered ;  and  if  it  be  bad  for  a  man,  it  is  very  much  worse 
for  a  woman !  Everybody  will  admire  her,  and  nobody 
will  marry  her;  I  have  a  presentiment  of  it!" 


172        LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

With  which  prophetical  melange  of  the  glorious  and 
the  inglorious  for  her  charge's  coming  career,  Lady  Mar- 
about sighed,  and  gave  a  little  shiver,  such  as 

Sous  des  maux  ignores  nous  fait  g^mir  d'avance, 

as  Delphine  Gay  well  phrased  it.  And  she  floated  out 
of  her  boudoir  to  the  dining-room  for  luncheon,  at  which 
unformal  and  pleasant  meal  Carruthers  chanced  to  stay, 
criticise  a  new  dry  sherry,  and  take  a  look  at  this  un- 
salable young  filly  of  the  Marabout  Yearling  Sales. 

"  I  don't  know  about  her  being  detrimental,  mother, 
nor  about  her  being  little ;  she  is  more  than  middle 
height,"  laughed  he ;  "  but  I  vow  she  is  the  prettiest 
thing  you  've  had  in  your  list  for  some  time.  You  've 
had  much  greater  beauties,  you  say  ?  Well,  perhajis  so ; 
but  I  bet  you  any  money  she  will  make  a  sensation." 

"  I  'm  sure  she  will,"  reiterated  Lady  Marabout,  de- 
spairingly. "  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  have  a  brilliant  sea- 
son ;  there  is  something  very  piquante,  taking,  and  un- 
common about  her ;  but  who  will  marry  her  at  the  end 
of  it?" 

Carruthers  shouted  with  laughter. 

"Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  attempt  to  prophesy!  I 
would  undertake  as  readily  to  say  who  '11  be  the  owner  of 
the  winner  of  the  Oaks  ten  years  hence !  I  can  tell  you 
who  won't " 

"Yourself;  because  you'll  never  marry  anybody  at 
all,"  cried  Lady  Marabout.  "Well !  I  must  say  I  should 
not  wish  you  to  renounce  your  misogamistic  notions  here. 
The  Montolieus  are  not  at  all  what  you  should  look  for ; 
and  a  child  like  Flora  would  be  excessively  ill  suited  to 
you.  If  I  could  see  you  married,  as  I  should  desire,  to 
some  woman  of  Aveight  and  dignity,  five  or  six-and-twenty, 
fit  for  you  in  every  way " 

"De  grace,  de  grace  !  My  dear  mother,  the  mere  sketch 
will  kill  me,  if  you  insist  on  finishing  it!    Be  reasonable! 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  1T3 

Can  anything  be  more  comfortable,  more  tranquil,  than  I 
am  now  ?  I  swing  through  life  in  a  rocking-chair ;  if  I  'm 
a  trifle  bored  now  and  then,  it 's  my  heaviest  trial.  I  float 
as  pleasantly  on  the  waves  of  London  life,  in  ray  way,  as 
the  lotus-eaters  of  poetry  on  the  Ganges  in  theirs ;  and 
you  'd  have  the  barbarity  to  introduce  into  my  complacent 
existence  the  sting  of  matrimony,  the  phosphorus  of 
Hymen's  torch,  the  symbolical  serpent  of  a  wedding-ring? 
—  for  shame !  " 

Lady  Marabout  laughed  despite  herself,  and  the  sol- 
emnity, in  her  eyes,  of  the  subject. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  happily  married,  for  all  that, 
though  I  quite  despair  of  it  now ;  but  perhaps  you  are 
right." 

"  Of  course  I  am  right !  Adam  was  tranquil  and  un- 
worried  till  fate  sent  him  a  wife,  and  he  was  typical  of  the 
destinies  of  his  descendants.  Those  who  are  wise,  take 
warning ;  those  who  are  not,  neglect  it  and  repent.  Lady 
Hautton  et  G"  are  very  fond  of  twisting  scriptural  ob- 
scurities into  '  types.'  There 's  a  type  plain  as  day,  and 
salutary  to  mankind,  if  detrimental  to  women  ! " 

"  Philip,  you  are  abominable  !  don't  be  so  wicked  I " 
cried  Lady  Marabout,  enjoying  it  all  the  more  because 
she  was  a  little  shocked  at  it,  as  your  best  women  will  on 
occasion ;  human  nature  is  human  nature  everywhere, 
and  the  female  heart  gives  pleasurable  little  pulses  at  the 
sight  of  forbidden  fruits  now,  as  in  the  days  of  Eve. 

"  Who 's  that  Miss  Montolieu  with  your  mother  this 
year,  Phil  ?"  dozens  of  men  asked  Carruthers,  that  season, 
across  the  mess-table,  in  the  smoking-room  of  the  Guards, 
in  the  Ride  or  the  Riug,  in  the  doorways  of  ball-rooms,  or 
anywhere  where  such-like  questions  are  asked  and  new 
pretty  women  discussed. 

"What  is  it  in  her  that  takes  so  astonishingly?"  won- 
dered Lady  Marabout,  who  is,  like  most  women,  orthodox 
on  all  points,  loving  things  by  rule,  worrying  if  they  go 
16* 


174         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

out  of  the  customary  routine,  and  was,  therefore,  quite 
incapable  of  reconciling  herself  to  so  revolutionary  a  fact 
as  a  young  lady  being  admired  who  was  not  a  beauty,  and 
sought  while  she  was  detrimental  in  every  way.  It  was 
"  out  of  the  general  rule,"  and  your  orthodox  people  hate 
anything  "out  of  the  general  run,"  as  they  hate  their 
prosperous  friends  :  the  force  of  hatred  can  no  further 
go !  Flora  Montolieu's  crime  in  Belgravia  was  much  akin 
to  the  Bonapartes'  crimes  to  the  Bourbons.  Thrones 
must  be  filled  legitimately,  if  not  worthily,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  orthodox  people,  and  this  Petit  Caporal  of  Lady 
Marabout's  had  no  business  to  reign  where  the  Hereditary 
Princesses  and  all  the  other  noble  lines  failed  to  sway  the 
sceptre.  Lady  Marabout,  belonging  to  the  noble  lines 
herself,  agreed  in  her  heart  with  them,  and  felt  a  little 
bit  guilty  to  have  introduced  this  democratic  and  unwel- 
come element  in  society. 

Flora  Moutolieu  "  took,"  as  people  say  of  bubble  com- 
panies, meaning  that  they  will  pleasantly  ruin  a  million 
or  two :  or  of  new  fashions,  meaning  that  they  will  be- 
come general  with  the  many  and,  seqtdtur,  unwearable 
with  the  few.  She  had  the  brilliance  and  grace  of  one 
of  her  own  tropical  flowers,  with  something  piquante  and 
attractive  about  her  that  one  had  to  leave  nameless,  but 
that  was  all  the  more  charming  for  that  very  fact  perhaps ; 
full  of  life  and  animation,  but  soft  as  a  gazelle,  as  her 
chaperone  averred ;  not  characterless,  as  Lady  Marabout 
fondly  desired  (on  the  same  principle,  I  suppose,  as  a 
timid  whip  likes  a  horse  as  spiritless  as  a  riding-school 
hack),  but  gifted  with  plenty  of  very  marked  character, 
80  much,  indeed,  that  it  rather  puzzled  her  cameriste. 

"Girls  shouldn't  have  marked  character;  they  should 
be  clay  that  one  can  mould,  not  a  self-chiselled  statuette, 
that  will  only  go  into  its  own  niche,  and  won't  go  into 
any  other.  This  little  Montolieu  would  make  just  »uch 
a  woman  as  Vittoria  Colonna  or  Madame  de  Sable,  but 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         175 

one  doesn't  want  those  qualities  in  a  girl,  who  '3  but  a 
single  little  ear  in  the  wheat-sheaf  of  society,  and  whom 
one  wants  to  marry  off,  but  can't  expect  to  marry  well. 
Her  poor  mother,  of  course,  will  look  to  me  to  do  something 
advantageous  for  her,  and  I  verily  believe  she  is  that  sort 
of  girl  that  will  let  me  do  nothing,"  thought  Lady  Mar- 
about, already  beginning  to  worry,  as  she  talked  to  Lady 
George  Frangipane  at  a  breakfast  in  Palace  Gardens, 
and  watched  Flora  Montolieu,  with  Carruthers  on  her 
left  and  Goodwood  on  her  right,  amusing  them  both,  to 
all  semblance,  and  holding  her  own  to  the  Lady  Hautton's 
despite,  who  held  their  own  so  excessively  chillily  and 
loftily  that  no  ordinary  mortals  cared  to  approach  them, 
but,  beholding  them,  thought  involuntarily  of  the  stately 
icebergs  off  the  Spitzbergen  coast,  only  that  the  icebergs 
could  melt  or  explode  when  their  time  came,  and  the 
time  was  never  known  when  the  Hautton  surface  could 
be  moved  to  anger  or  melt  to  any  sunshine  whatever. 
At  least,  whether  their  maids  or  their  mother  ever  beheld 
the  first  of  the  phenomena,  far  be  it  from  me  to  say,  but 
the  world  never  saw  either. 

"  Well,  Miss  Montolieu,  how  do  you  like  our  life  here?" 
Carruthers  was  asking.  "  Which  is  preferable — Belgra- 
via  or  St.  Denis?" 

"  Oh,  Belgravia,  decidedly,"  laughed  Lady  Marabout's 
charge.  "  I  think  your  life  charming.  All  change,  ex- 
citement, gayety,  who  would  not  like  it?" 

"  Nobody  —  that  is  not  fresh  to  it?" 

"  Fresh  to  it?  Ah!  are  you  one  of  the  class  who  find 
no  beauty  in  anything  unless  it  is  new?  If  so,  do  not 
charge  the  blame  on  to  the  thing,  as  your  tone  implies ; 
take  it  rather  to  yourself  and  your  own  fickleness." 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  smiled  Carruthers.  "But  whether 
one's  self  or  '  the  thing '  is  to  blame,  the  result 's  much  the 
same — satiety!  Wait  till  you  have  had  two  or  three 
seasons,  and  them  tell  me  if  yoa  find  this  mill-wheel  rou- 


176         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

tine,  these  circus  gyrations,  so  delightful !  We  are  the 
performing  stud,  ^ho  go  round  and  round  in  the  hippo- 
drome, day  after  day  for  show,  till  we  are  sick  of  the 
whole  programme,  knowing  our  white  stars  are  but  a 
daub  of  paint,  and  our  gay  spangles  only  tinfoil.  You 
are  a  little  pony  just  joined  to  the  troupe,  and  just  pleased 
with  the  glitter  of  the  arena.  Wait  till  you  've  had  a 
few  years  of  it  before  you  say  whether  going  through  the 
same  hoops  and  passing  over  the  same  sawdust  is  so  very 
amusing." 

"  If  I  do  not,  I  shall  desert  the  troupe,  and  form  a  cir- 
cus of  my  own  less  mechanical  and  more  enjoyable." 

"  II  faut  souffrir  pour  etre  belle,  ilfaut  soiiffrir  encore 
plus  pour  etre  d  la  mode  !  "  said  Goodwood,  on  her  right, 
while  Lady  Egidia  Hautton  thought,  "  How  bold  that 
little  Montolieu  is!"  and  her  sister.  Lady  Feodorowna, 
wondered  what  her  cousin  Goodwood  could  see  there. 

*'  I  do  not  see  the  necessity,"  interrupted  Flora,  "  and  1 
certainly  would  never  bow  to  the  '  il  faut.'  I  would  make 
fashion  follow  me  ;  I  would  not  follow  fashion."  ("  That 
child  talks  as  though  she  were  the  Duchess  of  Amandinej" 
thought  Lady  Marabout,  catching  fragmentary  portions 
across  the  table,  the  Marabout  oral  and  oracular  organs 
being  always  conveniently  multiplied  when  she  was  armed 
cap  a  pie  as  a  chaperone.)  "  Sir  Philip,  you  talk  as  if 
you  belonged  to  the  '  nothing-is-new,  and  nothing-is-true, 
fl-nd  it-don't-signify '  class.  I  should  have  thought  you 
were  above  the  nil  admirari  affectation." 

"  He  admires,  as  we  all  do,  when  we  find  something 
that  compels  our  homage,"  said  Goodwood,  with  an  em- 
phasis that  would  have  made  the  hearts  of  any  of  the 
Hereditary  Princesses  palpitate  with  gratification,  but 
at  which  the  ungrateful  Petit  Caporal  only  glanced  at 
him  a  little  surprisedly  with  her  large  hazel  eyes,  as 
though  she  by  no  means  saw  the  i)oint  of  the  speech. 

Carruthers  laughed : 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.         177 

*'  Nil  admirari  ?  Oh  no.  I  enjoy  life,  but  then  it  is 
thanks  to  the  clubs,  my  yacht,  my  cigar-case,  my  stud, 
a  thousand  things,  —  not  thanks  at  all  to  Belgravia." 

"Complimentary  to  the  Belgraviennes ! "  cried  Flora, 
with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "  They  have  not  kno\vi» 
how  to  amuse  you,  then?" 

"  Ladies  never  do  amuse  us  ! "  sighed  Carruthers.  "  Taut 
pis  pour  nous  !  " 

"Are  you  going  to  Lady  Patchouli's  this  evening?" 
asked  Goodwood. 

"  I  believe  we  are.     I  think  Lady  Marabout  said  so." 

"  Then  I  shall  exert  myself,  and  go  too.  It  will  be  a 
terrible  bore  —  balls  always  are.  But  to  waltz  with  you 
I  will  try  to  encounter  it!" 

Flora  Montolieu  arched  her  eyebrows,  and  gave  him  a 
little  disdainful  glance. 

"Lord  Goodwood,  do  not  be  so  sure  that  I  shall  waltz 
at  all  with  you.  If  you  take  vanity  for  wit,  /  cannn*. 
accept  discourtesy  as  compliment ! " 

"Well  hit,  little  lady!"  thought  Carruthers,  with  a 
mental  bravissima. 

"  What  a  speech  !  "  thought  Lady  Marabout,  across  the 
table,  as  shocked  as  though  a  footman  had  dropped  a 
cascade  of  iced  hock  over  her. 

"You  got  it  for  once,  Goodwood,"  laughed  Carruthers, 
as  they  drove  away  in  his  tilbury.  "  You  never  had  such 
a  sharp  brush  as  that." 

"  By  Jove,  no  !  Positively  it  was  quite  a  new  sensation 
—  refreshing,  indeed  I  One  grows  so  tired  of  the  women 
who  agree  with  one  eternally.  She  's  charming,  on  my 
word.     Who  is  she,  Phil  ?     In  an  heraldic  sense,  I  mean." 

"My  dear  child,  Avhat  could  possess  you  to  answer 
Lord  Goodwood  like  that?"  cried  Lady  Marabout,  as  her 
barouche  rolled  down  Palace  Gardens. 

"  Possess  me  ?     The  Demon  of  Mischief,  I  suppose." 
"But,  my  love,  it  was  a  wonderful  compliment  from 

bim  !" 

M 


Its         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

"  "Was  it  ?  I  do  not  see  any  compliment  in  those  vain, 
impertinent,  Brummelian  amour-propreisms.  I  must  coin 
the  word,  there  is  no  good  one  to  express  it." 

"  But,  my  dear  Flora,  you  know  he  is  the  Marquis  of 
Goodwood,  the  Duke  of  Doncaster's  son !  It  is  not  as  if 
he  Avere  a  boy  in  the  Lancers,  or  an  unfledged  petit  maitre 
from  the  Foreign  Office " 

"  Were  he  her  Majesty's  son,  he  should  not  gratify  his 
vanity  at  my  expense !  If  he  expected  me  to  be  flattered 
by  his  condescension,  he  mistook  me  very  much.  He  has 
been  allowed  to  adopt  that  tone,  I  suppose ;  but  from  a 
man  to  a  woman  a  chivalrous  courtesy  is  due,  though  the 
man  be  an  emperor." 

"Perhaps  so — of  course;  but  that  is  their  tone  nowa- 
days, my  love,  and  you  cannot  alter  it.  I  always  say  the 
Regency-men  inaugurated  it,  and  their  sons  and  grand- 
sons out-Herod  Herod.  But  to  turn  a  tide,  or  be  a  wit 
with  impunity,  a  Avoman  wants  to  occupy  a  prominent  and 
unassailable  position.  Were  you  the  Duchess  of  Aman- 
dine, you  might  say  that  sort  of  thing,  but  a  young  girl 
just  out  viust  not — indeed  she  must  not!  The  Hauttons 
heard  you,  and  the  Hauttons  are  very  merciless  people^ 
perfectly  bred  themselves,  and  pitiless  on  the  least  in- 
fringement of  the  convenances.  Besides,  ten  to  one  you 
may  have  gained  Goodwood's  ill-will ;  and  he  is  a  man 
whose  word  has  immense  weight,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  do  not  see  anything  remarkable  in  him  to  give  him 
weight,"  said  the  literal  and  unimpressible  little  Monto- 
lieu.  "  He  is  a  commonplace  person  to  my  taste,  neither 
so  brilliant  nor  so  handsome  by  a  great  deal  as  many 
gentlemen  I  see — as  Sir  Philip,  for  instance.  Lady  Mara- 
bout?" 

"As  my  son?  No,  ray  love,  he  is  not;  very  few  men 
have  Philip's  talents  and  person,"  said  Lady  Marabout, 
consciously  mollified  and  propitiated,  but  going  on,  never- 
theless, with    a   S])artan   iuijjartiality   highly   laudable 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  179 

**  Goodwood's  rank,  however,  is  much  higher  than  Philip'H 
(at  least  it  stands  so,  though  really  the  Carruthers  are  by- 
far  the  older,  dating  as  far  back  as  Ethelbert  II.,  while 
the  Doncaster  family  are  literally  \inknown  till  the  four- 
teenth century,  when  Gervaise  d'Ascotte  received  the 
ac'lade  before  Ascalon  from  Godfrey  de  Bouillon)  ;  Good- 
wood has  great  weight,  my  dear,  in  the  best  circles.  A 
compliment  from  him  is  a  great  compliment  to  any  wo- 
man, and  the  sort  of  answer  you  gave  him " 

"  Must  have  been  a  great  treat  to  him,  dear  Lady  Mara- 
bout, if  every  one  is  in  the  habit  of  kow-towing  before 
him.  Princes,  you  know,  are  never  so  happy  as  when 
they  can  have  a  little  bit  of  nature ;  and  my  speech  must 
have  been  as  refreshing  to  Lord  Goodwood  as  the  breath 
of  his  Bearnese  breezes  and  the  freedom  of  his  Pyrenean 
forests  were  to  Henri  Quatre  after  the  court  etiquette  and 
the  formal  ceremonial  of  Paris." 

"I  don't  know  about  its  being  a  treat  to  him,  my  dear; 
it  was  more  likely  to  be  a  shower-bath.  And  your  illus- 
tration is  n't  to  the  point.  The  Bearnese  breezes  were 
Henri  Quatre's  native  air,  and  might  be  pleasant  to  him  ; 
but  the  figurative  ones  are  not  Goodwood's,  and  I  am  sure 
cannot  please  him." 

"  But,  Lady  Marabout,  I  do  not  want  to  please  him  ! " 
persisted  the  young  lady,  jierversely.  "  I  don't  care  in 
the  least  what  he  thinks,  or  what  he  says  of  me ! " 

"  Dear  me,  how  oddly  things  go  ! "  thought  Lady  Mar- 
about. "  There  was  Valencia,  one  of  the  proudest  girls 
in  England,  his  equal  in  every  way,  an  acknowledged 
beauty,  who  would  have  said  the  dust  on  the  trottoir  was 
diamonds,  and  worn  turquoises  on  azureline,  or  emeralds 
on  rose,  I  verily  believe,  if  such  opticisms  and  gaucheries 
had  been  Goodwood's  taste;  and  here  is  this  child  —  for 
whom  the  utmost  one  can  do  will  })c  to  secure  a  younger 
son  out  of  the  Civil  Service,  or  a  country  member — can- 
not be  made  tc  see  that  he  is  of  an  atom  more  importance 


180  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

than  Soatnes  or  Masou,  and  treats  liiin  with  downright 
nonchalant  indifference.  What  odd  anomalies  one  seea 
in  everything ! " 

"Who  is  that  young  lady  with  you  this  season?"  Lady 
Hautton  asked,  smiling  that  acidulated  smile  with  which 
that  amiable  saint  always  puts  long  questions  to  you  of 
which  she  knows  the  answer  would  he  jyeine  forte  et  dure. 
"  Not  the  daughter  of  that  horrid  John  Montolieu,  who 
did  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things,  and  was  put  into  a  West 
India  regiment ?  Indeed!  that  man?  Dear  me!  Mar- 
ried Ihe  sister  of  your  incumbent  at  Fernditton?  Ah, 
really  !  —  very  singular  !  But  how  do  you  come  to  have 
brought  out  the  daughter?" 

At  all  of  which  remarks  Lady  Marabout  winced,  and 
felt  painfully  guilty  of  a  gross  democratic  dereliction 
from  legitimate  and  beaten  paths,  conscious  of  having 
sinned  heavily  in  the  eyes  of  the  w^orld  and  Lady  Hautton, 
by  bringing  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  Belgravia  the 
daughter  of  a  mauvais  sujet  in  a  West  India  corps  and  a 
sister  of  a  perpetual  curate.  The  world  was  a  terrible 
dragon  to  Lady  Marabout ;  to  her  imagination  it  always 
appeared  an  incarnated  and  omniscient  bugbear,  Argus- 
eyed,  and  with  all  its  hundred  eyes  relentlessly  fixed  on 
her,  spying  out  each  item  of  her  shortcomings,  every  lit- 
tle flaw  in  the  Marabout  diamonds,  any  spur-made  tear 
in  her  Honiton  flounces,  any  crease  in  her  train  at  a 
Drawing-room,  any  lese-majeste  against  the  royal  rule  of 
conventionalities,  any  glissade  on  the  polished  oak  floor 
of  society,  though  like  a  good  many  other  people  she 
often  worried  herself  needlessly  ;  the  flaws,  tears,  creases, 
high  treasons,  and  false  glissades  being  fifty  to  one  too 
infinitesimal  or  too  unimportant  to  society  for  one  of  the 
hundred  eyes  (vigilant  and  unwinking  though  I  grant 
they  are)  to  take  note  of  them.  The  world  was  a  terrible 
bugbear  to  Lady  Marabout,  and  its  special  impersonation 
was  Anne  Hautton.     She  disliked  Anne  Hautton ;  she 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  181 

didn't  esteem  her;  she  knew  her  to  be  a  narrow,  censo- 
rious, prejudiced,  and  strongly  malicious  lady ;  hut  she 
was  the  personification  of  the  World  to  Lady  Marabout, 
and  had  weight  and  terror  in  consequence.  Lady  Mara- 
bout is  not  the  first  person  who  has  burnt  incense  and 
bowed  in  fear  before  a  little  miserable  clay  image  she  cor- 
dially despised,  for  no  better  reason  —  for  the  self-same 
reason,  indeed. 

"  She  evidently  thinks  I  ought  not  to  have  brought 
Flora  out ;  and  perhaps  I  should  n't ;  though,  poor  little 
thing,  it  seems  very  hard  she  may  not  enjoy  society — fitted 
for  society,  too,  as  she  is — just  because  her  father  is  in  a 
West  India  regiment,  and  poor  Lilla  was  only  a  clergy- 
man's daughter.  Goodwood  really  seems  to  admire  her. 
I  can  never  forgive  him  for  his  heartless  flirtation  with 
Valencia ;  but  if  he  ivere  to  be  won  by  a  Montolieu,  what 
would  the  Hauttons  say  ?" 

And  sitting  against  the  wall,  with  others  of  her  sister- 
hood, at  a  ball,  a  glorious  and  golden  vision  rose  up  before 
Lady  Marabout's  eyes. 

If  the  unknown,  unwelcome,  revolutionary  little  Mon- 
tolieu should  go  in  and  win  where  the  Lady  Hauttons 
had  tried  and  failed  through  five  seasons  —  if  this  little 
tropical  floAver  should  be  promoted  to  the  Doncaster  con- 
servatory, where  all  the  stately  stephanotises  of  the 
peerage  had  vainly  aspired  to  bloom  —  if  this  Petit  Ca- 
poral  should  be  crowned  with  the  Doncaster  diadem, 
that  all  the  legitimate  rulers  had  uselessly  schemed  to 
place  on  their  brows!  The  soul  of  Lady  Marabout  rose 
elastic  at  the  bare  prospect — it  would  be  a  great  triumph 
for  a  chaperone  as  for  a  general  to  conquer  a  valuable 
position  with  a  handful  of  boy  recruits. 

If  it  should  be !  Anne  Hautton  would  have  nothing 
to  say  after  that/ 

And  Lady  Marabout,  though  she  was  the  most  amiable 
lady  in  Christendom,  was  not  exempt  froji  a  feeling  of 
16 


182  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

longing  for  a  stone  to  roll  to  the  door  of  her  enemy's 
stronghold,  or  a  flourish  of  trumpets  to  silence  the  boast- 
ful and  triumphant  fanfare  that  was  perpetually  sounding 
at  sight  of  her  defeats  from  her  opponent's  ramparts. 

Wild,  visionary,  guiltily  scheming,  sinfully  revolution- 
ary seemed  such  a  project  in  her  eyes.  Still,  how  tempt- 
ing !  It  would  be  a  terrible  blow  to  Valencia,  who  'd 
tried  for  Goodwood  fruitlessly,  to  be  eclipsed  by  this  un- 
known Flora ;  it  would  be  a  terrible  blow  to  their  Graces 
of  Doncaster,  who  held  nobody  good  enough,  heraldically 
speaking,  for  their  heir-apparent,  to  see  him  give  the  best 
coronet  in  England  to  a  bewitching  little  interloper,  sana 
money,  birth,  or  rank.  "  They  would  n't  like  it,  of  course ; 
I  shouldn't  like  it  for  Philip,  for  instance,  though  she's 
a  very  sweet  little  thing ;  all  the  Ascottes  would  be  very 
vexed,  and  all  the  Valletorts  would  never  forgive  it;  but 
it  would  be  such  a  triumph  over  Anne  Hautton ! "  pon- 
dered Lady  Marabout,  and  the  last  clause  carried  the  day. 
Did  you  ever  know  private  pique  fail  to  carry  the  day  over 
public  charity  ? 

And  Lady  Marabout  glanced  with  a  glow  of  prospective 
triumph,  which,  though  erring  to  her  Order,  was  delicious 
to  her  individuality,  at  Goodwood  waltzing  with  the  little 
Montolieu  a  suspicious  number  of  times,  while  Lady  Egi- 
dia  Hautton  was  condemned  to  his  young  brother,  Setou 
Ascotte,  and  Lady  Feodorowna  danced  positively  with 
nobody  better  than  their  own  county  member,  originally 
a  scion  of  Goodwood's  bankers !  Could  the  force  of 
humiliation  further  go  ?  Lady  Hautton  sat  smiling  and 
chatting,  but  the  tiara  on  her  temples  was  a  figuratire 
thorn  crown,  and  Othello's  occupation  was  gone.  When 
a  lady's  daughters  are  dancing  with  an  unavailable  cadet 
of  twenty,  and  a  parvenu,  only  acceptable  in  the  last  ex- 
tremities of  despair,  what  good  is  it  for  her  to  watch  tho 
smiles  and  construe  the  attentions  ? 

"  W<?  shall  see  who  triumphs  now,"  thought  Lady  Ma« 


LADY    MARABOrT'S    TROUBLES  183 

rabout,  witli  a  glow  of  pleasure,  for  which  her  heart  re- 
proached her  a  moment  afterwards.  "It  is  very  wrong," 
she  thought ;  "  if  those  poor  girls  don't  marry,  one  ought 
to  pity  them  ;  and  as  for  her — going  through  five  seasons, 
with  a  fresh  burden  of  responsibility  leaving  the  school- 
room, and  added  on  your  hands  each  year,  must  sour  the 
sweetest  temper ;  it  would  do  mine,  I  am  sure.  I  dare 
say,  if  I  had  had  daughters,  I  should  have  been  ten  times 
more  worried  even  than  I  am." 

Which  she  would  have  been,  undoubtedly,  and  the  eli- 
gibles  on  her  visiting-list  ten  times  more  too !  Men 
would  n't  have  voted  the  Marabout  dinners  and  soirees  so 
pleasant  as  they  did,  under  the  sway  of  that  sunshiny 
hostess,  if  there  had  been  Lady  Maudes  and  Lady  Marys 
to  exact  attention,  and  lay  mines  under  the  Auxerre  car- 
pets, and  man-traps  among  the  epergne  flowers  of  Lowndes 
Square.  Nor  would  Lady  Marabout  have  been  the  same ; 
the  sunshine  could  n't  have  shone  so  brightly,  nor  the 
milk  of  roses  flowed  so  mildly  under  the  weight  and  wear 
of  marriageable  but  unmarried  daughters ;  the  sunshine 
would  have  been  fitful,  the  milk  of  roses  curdled  at  best. 
And  no  wonder !  Those  poor  women  !  they  have  so  much 
to  go  through  in  the  world,  and  play  but  such  a  monot- 
onous role,  taken  at  its  most  brilliant  and  best,  from  first 
to  last,  from  cradle  to  grave,  from  the  berceaunettes  in 
which  they  commence  their  existence  to  the  mausoleum 
in  which  they  finish  it.  If  they  do  get  a  little  bit  soured 
when  they  have  finished  their  own  game,  and  have  to  sit 
at  the  card-tables,  wide  awake  however  weary,  vigilant 
however  drowsy,  alert  however  bored  to  death,  superin- 
tending the  hands  of  the  fresh  players,  surreptitiously 
suggesting  means  for  securing  the  tricks,  keeping  a 
dragon's  eye  out  for  revokes,  and  bearing  all  the  brunt 
of  the  blame  if  the  rubber  be  lost  —  if  they  do  get  a  lit- 
tle bit  soured,  who  can,  after  all,  greatly  wonder?" 

"  That 's  a  very  brilliant  little  thing,  that  girl  Montolieu/' 


184         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES 

said  Goodwood,  driving  over  to  Hornsey  "Wood,  the  morn- 
iDg  after,  with  Carruthers  and  some  other  men,  in  his 
drag. 

"A deuced  pretty  waltzer!"  said  St.  Lys,  of  the  Bays; 
"  turn  her  round  in  a  square  foot." 

"And  looks  very  well  in  the  saddle;  sits  her  horse 
better  than  any  woman  in  the  Ride,  except  Rosalie 
Rosifere,  and  as  she  came  from  the  Cirque  Olympique 
originally,  one  don't  count  Aer,"  said  Fulke  Nugent.  "  I 
do  like  a  woman  to  ride  well,  I  must  say.  I  promised 
your  mother  to  take  a  look  at  the  Marabout  Yearling 
Sale,  Phil,  if  ever  I  wanted  the  never-desirable  and  ever- 
burdensome  article  she  has  to  offer,  and  if  anything  could 
tempt  me  to  pay  the  price  she  asks,  I  think  it  would  be 
that  charming  Montolieu." 

"  She  's  the  best  thing  Lady  Tattersall  ever  had  on 
hand,"  said  Goodwood,  drawing  his  whip  over  his  off- 
wheeler's  back.  "You  know,  Phil  —  gently,  gently, 
Coronet!  —  what  spoilt  your  handsome  cousin  was,  as  I 
said,  that  it  was  all  mechanism ;  perfect  mechanism,  I 
admit,  but  all  artificial,  prearranged,  put  together,  wound 
up  to  smile  in  this  place,  bow  in  that,  and  frown  in  the 
other ;  clockwork  every  inch  of  it !  Now  —  so-ho, 
Zouave!  confound  you,  ivo7i't  you  be  quiet?  —  little  Mon- 
tolieu has  n't  a  bit  of  artifice  about  her  ;  'tis  n't  only  that 
you  don't  know  what  she's  going  to  say,  but  that  she 
doesn't  either;  and  whether  it's  a  smile  or  a  frown,  a 
jest  or  a  reproof,  it's  what  the  moment  brings  out,  not 
what 's  planned  beforehand." 

"  The  hard  hit  you  had  the  other  day  seems  to  have 
piqued  your  interest,"  said  Carruthers,  smoothing  a  loose 
leaf  of  his  Manilla. 

"  Naturally.  The  girl  did  n't  care  a  button  about  my 
compliment  (I  only  said  it  to  try  her),  and  the  plu<;ky 
answer  she  gave  me  amused  me  immensely.     Anything 


LADY    MARABOUT  S    TROUBLES.  185 

unartificial  and  frank  is  as  refreshing  as  hock-and-seltzer 
after  a  field-day  —  one  likes  it,  don't  you  know?" 

"  Wonderfully  eloquent  you  are,  Goody.  If  you  come 
out  like  that  in  St.  Stephen's,  we  sha'n't  know  you,  and 
the  ministerialists  will  look  down  in  the  mouth  with  a 
vengeance ! " 

"  Don't  be  satirical,  Phil !  If  I  admire  Mademoiselle 
Flora,  what  is  it  to  you,  pray?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  Carruthers,  with  unnecessary 
rapidity  of  enunciation. 

"  My  love,  what  are  you  going  to  wear  to-night  ?  The 
Bishop  of  Bonviveur  is  coming.  He  was  a  college  friend 
of  your  poor  uncle's ;  knew  your  dear  mother  before  she 
married.  I  want  you  to  look  your  very  best  and  charm 
him,  as  you  certainly  do  most  people,"  said  Lady  Mara- 
bout. Adroit  intriguer !  The  bishop  was  going,  sans 
doute  ;  the  bishop  loved  good  wine,  good  dinners,  and  good 
society,  and  found  all  three  in  Lowndes  Square,  but  the 
bishop  was  entirely  unavailable  for  purposes  matrimonial, 
having  had  three  wives,  and  being  held  tight  in  hand  by  a 
fourth  ;  however,  a  bishop  is  a  convenient  piece  to  cover 
your  king,  in  chess,  and  the  bishop  served  admirably  just 
then  in  Lady  Marabout's  moves  as  a  locum  tenens  for 
Goodwood.  Flora  Montolieu,  in  her  innocence,  made 
herself  look  her  prettiest  for  her  mother's  old  friend,  and 
Flora  Montolieu  was  conveniently  ready,  looking  her 
prettiest,  for  her  chaperone's  pet-eligible,  when  Goodwood 
—  who  hated  to  dine  anywhere  in  London  except  at  the 
clubs,  the  Castle,  or  the  Guards'  mess,  and  was  as  difficult 
to  get  for  your  dinners  as  birds'-nests  soup  or  Tokay 
pur  —  entered  the  Marabout  drawing-rooms. 

"Anne  Hautton  will  see  he  dined  here  to-night,  in  the 
Morning  Post  to-morrow  morning,  and  she  will  know 
Flora  must  attract  him  very  unusually.  What  will  she, 
and  Egidia,  and  Foodorowna  say?"  thought  Lady  Mara- 
Dout,  with  a  glow  of  pleasure,  which  she  was  conscious 
IG* 


186  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

was  uncharitable  and  sinful,  and  yet  could  n't  repress,  let 
her  try  how  she  might. 

In  scheming  for  the  future  Duke  of  Doncaster  for  John 
Moutolieu's  daughter,  she  felt  much  as  democratically  and 
treasonably  guilty  to  her  order  as  a  prince  of  the  blood 
might  feel  heading  a  Chartist  emeute ;  but  then,  suppose 
the  Chartist  row  was  that  Prince's  sole  chance  of  crushing 
an  odious  foe,  as  it  was  the  only  chance  for  her  to 
humiliate  the  Hautton,  don't  you  think  it  might  look 
tempting  ?  Judge  nobody,  my  good  sir,  till  you  've  been 
in  similar  circumstances  yourself —  a  golden  rule,  which 
might  with  advantage  employ  those  illuminating  colors 
with  which  ladies  employ  so  much  of  their  time  just  now. 
Remembering  it,  they  might  hold  their  white  hands  from 
flinging  those  sharp  flinty  stones,  that  surely  suit  them  so 
ill,  and  that  soil  their  fingers  in  one  way  quite  as  much 
as  they  soil  the  victim's  bowed  head  in  another?  Illumi- 
nate the  motto,  mesdames  and  demoiselles !  Perhaps  you 
will  do  that  —  on  a  smalt  ground,  with  a  gold  Persian 
arabesque  round,  and  impossible  flowers  twined  in  and 
out  of  the  letters  ;  but,  remember  it !  — pai'don  !  It  were 
asking  too  much. 

"My  dear  Philip,  did  you  notice  how  very  marked 
Goodwood's  attentions  were  to  Flora  last  night?"  asked 
Lady  Marabout,  the  morning  after,  in  one  of  her  most 
sunshiny  and  radiant  moods,  as  Carruthers  paid  her  his 
general  matutinal  call  in  her  boudoir. 

"Marked?" 

"  Yes,  marked !  Why  do  you  repeat  it  in  that  tone  ? 
If  they  were  marked,  there  is  nothing  to  be  ridiculed  tliat 
I  see.  They  were  very  marked,  indeed,  especially  for 
him;  he's  such  an  unimpressible,  never-show-any thing 
man.     I  wonder  you  did  not  notice  it!" 

"  My  dear  mother ! "  said  Carruthers,  a  little  im- 
patiently, brushing  up  the  Angora  cat's  rufl?"  the  wrong 
way  with  his  cane,  "  do  you  suppose  I  pass  my  evenings 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.  1>^1 

notioing  the  attentions  other  men  may  see  fit  to  pay  to 
young  ladies  ?  " 

"Well  —  don't  be  impatient.  You  ne ver  used  to  be," 
said  Lady  Marabout.  "  If  you  were  in  my  place  just  for 
a  night  or  two,  or  any  other  chaperone's,  you  'd  be  more 
full  of  pity.  But  people  never  will  sympathize  with  any- 
thing that  doesn't  touch  themselves.  The  only  chords 
that  strike  the  key-note  in  anybody  is  the  chord  that 
sounds  'self;'  and  that  is  the  reason  why  the  world  is  as 
full  of  crash  and  tumult  as  Beethoven's  '  Storm.'  " 

"  Quite  right,  my  dear  mother ! " 

"  Of  course  it 's  quite  right.  I  always  think  you  have 
a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  a  man,  Philip,  even  for 
people  you  don't  harmonize  with  —  (you  could  sympathize 
with  that  child  Flora,  yesterday,  in  her  rapturous  delight 
at  seeing  that  Coccoloba  Uvifera  in  the  Patchouli  conser- 
vatory, because  it  reminded  her  of  her  West  Indian 
home,  and  you  care  nothing  whatever  about  flowers,  nor 
yet  about  the  West  Indies,  I  should  suppose)  —  but  you 
never  will  sympathize  Avith  me.  You  know  how  many 
disappointments  and  grievances  and  vexations  of  every 
kind  I  have  had  the  last  ten,  twenty,  ay,  thirty,  forty 
seasons  —  ever  since  I  had  to  chaperone  your  aunt 
Eleanore,  almost  as  soon  as  I  was  married,  and  was  woi- 
ried,  more  thau  anybody  ever  was  worried,  by  her  coquet- 
teries  and  her  inconsistencies  and  her  vacillations  —  so 
badly  as  she  married,  too,  at  the  last!  Those  flirting 
beauties  so  often  do;  they  throw  away  a  hundred  ad- 
mirable chances  and  put  up  with  a  wretched  dernier  res- 
sort; —  let  a  thousanii  salmon  break  away  from  the  line 
out  of  their  carelessness,  and  end  by  being  glad  to  land 
a  little  minnow.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  nH  been  wor- 
ried by  chaperoning.  Flora  Montolieu  is  a  great  anxiety, 
a  great  difficulty,  little  detrimental  that  she  is  ! " 

"  Detrimental !  What  an  odd  word  you  choose  for  her." 

"  I  don't  choose  it  for  her ;  she  is  it,"  returned  Lady 
Max-about,  decidedly. 


188  LADY    MARABOUTS    TROUBLES. 

"How  SO?" 

"  How  so  !  Why,  my  dear  Philip,  I  told  you  the  very 
first  day  she  came.  How  so !  when  she  is  John  Mon- 
tolieu's  daughter,  when  she  has  no  birth  to  speak  of,  and 
not  a  farthing  to  her  fortune." 

"  If  she  were  Jack  Ketch's  daughter,  you  could  not 
speak  much  worse.  Her  high-breeding  might  do  credit 
to  a  Palace ;  I  only  wish  one  found  it  in  all  Palaces  ! 
and  I  never  knew  you  before  measure  people  by  their 
money." 

"  My  dear  Philip,  no  more  I  do.  I  can't  bear  you  when 
you  speak  in  that  tone ;  it 's  so  hard  and  sarcastic,  and 
unlike  you.  /  don't  know  what  you  mean  either.  I 
should  have  thought  a  man  of  the  world  like  yourself 
knew  well  enough  what  I  intend  when  I  sa}  I'lora  is  a 
detrimental.  She  has  a  sweet  temper,  very  clever,  very 
lively,  very  charming,  as  any  one  knows  by  the  number 
of  men  that  crowd  about  her,  but  a  detrimental  she 
is " 

"Poor  little  heart!"  muttered  Carruthers  in  his  beard, 
too  low  for  his  mother  to  hear. 

" — And  yet  I  am  quite  positive  that  if  she  herself  act 
judiciously,  and  it  is  well  managed  for  her,  Goodwood 
may  be  won  before  the  season  is  over,"  concluded  Lady 
Marabout. 

Carruthers,  not  feeling  much  interest,  it  is  presumed,  in 
the  exclusively  feminine  pursuit  of  match-making,  re- 
turned no  answer,  but  played  with  Bijou's  silver  bells, 
and  twisted  his  own  tawny  moustaches. 

"  I  am  quite  positive  it  may  be,  if  properly  managed," 
reiterated  Lady  Marabout.  "  You  might  second  me  a 
little,  Philip." 

"  I?  Good  Heavens !  my  dear  mother,  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  I  would  sooner  turn  torreador,  and  throw 
lassos  over  bulls  at  Madrid,  than  help  you  to  fling  nup- 
tial cables  over  poor  devils  in  Belgravia.     Twenty  to  one  ? 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  189 

1  'm  going  to  the  Yard  to  look  at  a  bay  filly  of  Cope 
Fielden's,  and  then  on  to  a  mess-luncheon  of  the  Bays." 

"Must  you  go?"  said  his  mother,  looking  lovingly  on 
him.     "  You  look  tired,  Philip,     Don't  you  feel  well  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  ;  but  Cambridge  had  us  out  over  those  con- 
founded WormAVood  Scrubs  this  morning,  and  three  hours 
in  this  June  sun,  in  our  harness,  makes  one  swear.  If  it 
were  a  sharp  brush,  it  would  put  life  into  one ;  as  it  is,  it 
only  inspires  one  with  an  intense  suffering  from  boredom, 
and  an  intense  desire  for  hock  and  seltzer." 

"I  am  veiy  glad  you  haven't  a  sharp  brush,  as  you 
call  it,  for  all  that,"  said  Lady  Marabout.  "  It  might  be 
very  pleasant  to  you,  Philip,  but  it  wouldn't  be  quite  so 
much  so  to  me.     I  wish  you  would  stay  to  luncheon." 

"  Not  to-day,  thanks  ;  I  have  so  many  engagements." 

"  You  have  been  very  good  in  coming  to  see  me  this 
season — even  better  than  usual.  It  is  very  good  of  you, 
with  all  your  amusements  and  distractions.  You  have 
given  me  a  great  many  days  this  month,"  said  Lady  Mora- 
bout,  gratefully.  "  Anne  Hautton  sees  nothing  of  Haut- 
ton,  she  says,  except  at  a  distance  in  Pall-Mall  or  the 
Park,  all  the  season  through.  Fancy  if  I  savr  no  more 
of  you !  Do  you  know,  Philip,  I  am  almost  reconciled  to 
your  never  marrying.  I  have  never  seen  anybody  I 
should  like  at  all  for  you,  unless  you  had  chosen  Cecil 
Ormsby — Cecil  Cheveley  I  mean  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  should 
be  very  jealous  of  your  wife  if  you  had  one.  I  could  n't 
help  it!" 

"  Rest  tranquil,  my  dear  mother  ;  you  will  never  be 
put  to  the  test ! "  said  Carruthers,  v/ith  a  laugh,  as  he  bid 
her  good  morning. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best  he  should  n't  marry :  I  begin  to 
think  so,"  mused  Lady  Marabout,  as  the  door  closed  on 
him.  "  I  used  to  wish  it  very  much  for  some  things.  He 
Ls  the  last  of  his  name,  and  it  seems  a  pity ;  there  ought 
to  be  au  heir  for  Deepdene ;  but  still  marriage  is  such  a 


190  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

lottery  (he  is  right  enough  there,  though  I  don't  admit  it 
to  him :  it 's  a  tombola  where  there  is  one  prize  to  a  mil- 
lion of  blanks ;  one  can't  help  seeing  that,  though,  on 
principle,  I  never  allow  it  to  him  or  any  of  his  men),  and 
if  Philip  had  any  woman  who  did  n't  appreciate  him,  or 
didn't  understand  him,  or  didn't  make  him  happy,  how 
wretched  /  should  be!  I  have  often  pictured  Philip's 
wife  to  myself,  I  have  often  idealized  the  sort  of  woman 
I  should  like  to  see  him  marry,  but  it 's  very  improbable 
I  shall  ever  meet  my  ideal  realized ;  one  never  does ! 
And,  after  all,  whenever  I  have  fancied,  years  ago,  he 
might  be  falling  in  love,  I  have  always  felt  a  horrible 
dread  lest  she  shouldn't  be  Avorthy  of  him  —  a  jealous 
fear  of  her  that  I  could  not  conquer.  It 's  much  better  as 
it  is ;  there  is  no  woman  good  enough  for  him." 

With  which  compliment  to  Carruthers  at  her  sex's  ex- 
pense Lady  Marabout  returned  to  weaving  her  pet  pro- 
jected toils  for  the  ensnaring  of  Goodwood,  for  whom 
also,  if  asked,  I  dare  say  the  Duchess  of  Doncaster  would 
have  averred  on  her  part,  looking  through  her  maternal 
Claude  glasses,  no  woman  was  good  enough  either.  When 
ladies  have  daughters  to  marry,  men  always  present  to 
their  imaginations  a  battalion  of  worthless,  decalogue- 
smashing,  utterly  unreliable  individuals,  amongst  whom 
there  is  not  one  fit  to  be  trusted  or  fit  to  be  chosen  ;  but 
when  their  sons  are  the  candidates  for  the  holy  bond,  they 
view  all  women  through  the  same  foggy  and  non-embel- 
lishing medium,  which,  if  it  does  not  speak  very  much 
for  their  unprejudiced  discernment,  at  least  speaks  to  the 
oft-disputed  fiict  of  the  equality  of  merit  in  the  sexes, 
and  would  make  it  appear  that,  in  vulgar  parlance,  there 
must  be  six  of  the  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other. 

"  Flora,  soft  and  careless,  and  rebellious  as  she  looks, 
is  ambitious,  and  has  set  her  heart  on  winning  Goodwood, 
I  do  believe,  as  much  as  ever  poor  Valencia  did.  True, 
she  takes  a  difl*erent  plan  of  action,  as  Philip  would  call 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.  191 

it,  and  treats  him  with  gay  nonclialante  indifference,  wliich 
certainly  seems  to  pique  him  more  than  ever  my  poor 
niece's  beauty  and  quiet  deference  to  his  opinions  did  ; 
but  that  is  because  she  reads  him  better,  and  knows  more 
cleverly  how  to  rouse  him.  She  has  set  her  heart  on  win- 
ning Goodwood,  I  am  certain,  ambitious  as  it  seems.  How 
eagerly  she  looked  out  for  the  Blues  yesterday  at  that 
Ilyde  Park  inspection  —  though  I  am  sure  Goodwood 
dees  not  look  half  so  handsome  as  Philip  does  in  harness, 
as  they  call  it;  Philip  is  so  much  the  finer  man!  I  will 
just  sound  her  to-day  —  or  to-night  as  we  come  back  from 
the  opera,"  thought  Lady  Marabout,  one  morning. 

Things  were  moving  to  the  very  best  of  her  expecta- 
tions. Learning  experience  from  manifold  failures.  Lady 
Marabout  had  laid  her  plans  this  time  with  a  dexterity 
that  defied  discomfiture :  seconded  by  both  the  parties 
primarily  necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of  her  ma- 
ntieuvres,  with  only  a  little  outer-world  opposition  to  give 
it  piquancy  and  excitement,  she  felt  that  she  might  defy 
the  fates  to  checkmate  her  here.  This  should  be  her 
Marathon  and  Lemnos,  which,  simply  reverted  to,  should 
be  suflficient  to  secure  her  immunity  from  the  attacks  of 
any  feminine  Xantippus  who  should  try  to  rake  up  her 
failures  and  tarnish  her  glory.  To  win  Goodwood  Avith  a 
nobody's  daughter  would  be  a  feat  as  wonderful  in  its 
way  as  for  Miltiades  to  have  passed  "  in  a  single  day  and 
with  a  north  wind,"  as  Oracle  exacted,  to  the  conquest  of 
the  Pelasgian  Isles ;  and  Lady  Marabout  longed  to  do  it, 
as  you,  my  good  sir,  may  have  longed  in  your  day  to  take 
a  king  in  check  Avith  your  only  available  pawn,  or  Avin 
one  of  the  ribands  of  the  turf  with  a  little  filly  that 
seemed  to  general  judges  scarcely  calculated  to  be  in  the 
first  flight  at  the  Chester  Consolation  Scramble. 

Things  Avore  beautifully  in  train  ;  it  even  began  to  daAvn 
on  the  perceptions  of  the  ITauttons,  usually  very  sIoav  to 
open  to  anything   revolution.'! ry  and    unAvelcome.     Her 


192  LADY    marabout's  TROUBLES. 

Grace  of  Doncaster,  a  large,  lethargic,  somnolent  dow- 
ager, rarely  awake  to  anything  but  the  interests  and  res- 
toration of  the  old  ultra-Tory  party  in  a  Utopia  always 
dreamed  of  and  never  realized,  like  many  otlier  Utopias 
political  and  poetical,  public  and  personal,  had  turned 
her  eyes  on  Flora  Montolieu,  and  asked  her  son  the  ques- 
tion inevitable,  "Who  is  she?"  to  which  Goodwood  had 
replied  with  a  devil-may-care  recklessness  and  a  headlong 
indefiniteness  which  grated  on  her  Grace's  ears,  and  im- 
parted her  no  information  whatever :  "  One  of  Lady 
Tattersall's  yearlings,  and  the  most  charming  creature  / 
ever  met.  You  know  that  ?  Why  did  you  ask  me,  then  ? 
You  know  all  I  do,  and  all  I  care  to  do!" — a  remark 
that  made  the  Duchess  wish  her  very  dear  and  personal 
friend,  Lady  Marabout,  were  comfortably  and  snugly  in- 
terred in  the  mausoleum  of  Fern  Ditton,  rather  than  alive 
in  the  flesh  in  Belgravia,  chaperoning  young  ladies  whom 
nobody  knew,  and  who  were  not  to  be  found  in  any  of 
Sir  E.  Burke's  triad  of  volumes. 

Belgravia,  and  her  sister  Mayfair,  wondered  at  it,  and 
talked  over  it,  raked  up  the  parental  Montolieu  lineage 
mercilessly,  and  found  out,  from  the  Bishop  of  Bonviveur 
and  Sauceblanche,  that  the  uncle  on  the  distafi'  side  had 
been  only  a  Tug  at  Eton,  and  had  lived  and  died  at  Fern 
Ditton  a  perpetual  curate  and  nothing  else — not  even  a 
dean,  not  even  a  rector!  Goodwood  coxddnH  be  serious, 
settled  the  coteries.  But  the  more  hints,  innuendoes, 
questions,  and  adroitly  concealed  but  simply  suggested 
animadversion  Lady  Marabout  received,  the  greater  was 
lier  glory,  the  warmer  her  complacency,  when  she  saw  her 
Little  Montolieu,  who  was  not  little  at  all,  leading,  as  she 
undoubtedly  did  lead,  the  most  desired  eligible  of  the  day 
captive  in  her  chains,  sent  bouquets  by  him,  begged  for 
waltzes  by  him,  followed  by  him  at  the  Ride,  riveting  his 
lorgnon  at  the  Opera,  monopolizing  his  attention — though, 
clever  little  intriguer,  she  knew  too  well  how  to  pique  hiu» 
ever  to  let  him  monoj)olize  hens. 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  193 

"She  certainly  makes  play,  as  Philip  would  call  it 
admirably  with  Goodwood,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  admir- 
ingly, at  a  morning  party,  stirring  a  cup  of  Orange  Pekoe, 
yet  with  a  certain  irrepressible  feeling  that  she  should 
almost  prefer  so  very  young  a  girl  not  to  be  quite  so  adroit 
a  schemer  at  seventeen.  "  That  indifference  and  non- 
chalance is  the  very  thing  to  pique  and  retain  such  a 
courted  fastidious  creature  as  Goodwood ;  and  she  knows 
it,  too.  Now  a  clumsy  casual  observer  might  even  fancy 
t^iat  she  liked  some  others — even  you,  Philip,  for  instance 

—  much  better;  she  talks  to  you  much  more,  appeals  to 
you  twice  as  often,  positively  teases  you  to  stop  and  lunch 
or  come  to  dinner  here,  and  really  told  you  the  other 
night  at  the  Opera  she  missed  you  when  you  did  n't  come 
in  the  morning ;  but  to  anybody  who  knofvs  anything  of 
the  world,  it  is  easy  enough  to  see  which  way  her  inclina- 
tions (yes,  I  do  hope  it  is  inclination  as  well  as  ambition 

—  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  advocate  pure  viariages  cle 
convenance;  I  don't  think  them  right,  indeed,  though 
they  are  undoubtedly  very  expedient  sometimes)  turn.  I 
do  not  think  anybody  ever  could  prove  me  to  have  erred 
in  my  quick-sightedness  in  those  affairs.  I  may  have 
been  occasionally  mistaken  in  other  things,  or  been  the 
victim  of  adverse  and  unforeseen  circumstances  which 
were  beyond  my  control,  and  betrayed  me ;  but  I  know 
no  one  can  read  a  girl's  heart  more  quickly  and  surely 
than  I,  or  a  man's  either,  for  that  matter." 

"  Oh,  we  all  know  you  are  a  clairvoyante  in  heart 
episodes,  my  dear  mother ;  they  are  the  one  business  of 
your  life ! "  smiled  Carruthers,  setting  down  his  ice,  and 
lounging  across  the  lawn  to  a  group  of  cedars,  where 
Flora  Montolieu  stood  playing  at  cro(iuet,  and  who,  like 
a  scheming  adventuress,  as  she  was,  immediately  verilied 
Lady  Marabout's  words,  and  piqued  Goodwood  a  entrance 
by  avowing  herself  tired  of  the  game,  and  entering  with 
animated  verve  into  the  prophecies  for  Ascot  with  Car- 
17  N 


194  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

ruthers,  wliose  bay  filly  Sunbeam,  sister  to  Wild-Falcon, 
"was  entered  to  run  for  the  Queen's  Cup. 

"  What  an  odd  smile  that  was  of  Philip's,"  thought 
Lady  Marabout,  left  to  herself  and  her  Orange  Pekoe. 
"  He  has  been  very  intimate  with  Goodwood  ever  since 
they  joined  the  Blues,  cornets  together,  three-and-twenty 
years  ago  ;  surely  he  can't  have  heard  him  drop  anything 
that  would  make  him  fancy  he  was  not  serious  f  " 

An  idle  fear,  which  Lady  Marabout  dismissed  con- 
temptuously from  her  mind  when  she  saw  how  entirely 
Goodwood  —  in  defiance  of  the  Hauttons'  sneer,  the  drowsy 
Duchess's  unconcealed  frown,  all  the  comments  sure  to  be 
excited  in  feminine  minds,  and  all  the  chaff  likely  to  be 
elicited  from  masculine  lips  at  the  mess-table,  and  in  the 
U.  S.,  and  in  the  Guards'  box  before  the  curtain  went  up 
for  the  ballet — voAved  himself  to  the  service  of  the  little 
detrimental  throughout  that  morning  party,  and  spoke  a 
temporary  adieu,  whose  tenderness,  if  she  did  not  exactly 
catch,  Lady  Marabout  could  at  least  construe,  as  he  pulled 
up  the  tiger-skin  over  Flora's  dainty  dress,  before  the  Mar- 
about carriage  rolled  down  the  Fulham  Road  to  town. 
At  which  tenderness  of  farewell  Carruthers — steeled  to 
all  such  weaknesses  himself — gave  a  disdainful  glance 
and  a  contemptuous  twist  of  his  moustaches,  as  he  stood 
by  the  door  talking  to  his  mother. 

"You  too,  Phil?"  said  Goodwood,  with  a  laugh,  as  the 
carriage  rolled  away. 

Carruthers  stared  at  him  haughtily,  as  he  will  stare  at 
his  best  friends  if  they  touch  his  private  concerns  mor^ 
nearly  than  he  likes ;  a  stare  which  said  disdainfully,  "  T 
don't  understand  you,"  and  thereby  told  the  only  lie  tc» 
which  Carruthers  ever  stooped  in  the  whole  course  of  hi? 
existence. 

Goodwood  laughed  again. 

"  If  you  poach  on  my  manor  here,  I  shall  kill  you 
Phil ;  so  gare  d  vous  !  " 


LAJ.Y    marabout's    TROUBLES.  195 

"  You  are  in  an  enigmatical  mood  to-day !  I  can't  say 
I  see  much  wit  in  your  riddles,"  said  Carruthers,  with 
his  grandest  and  most  contemptuous  air,  as  he  lit  hia 
Havana. 

'*  Confound  that  fellow !  I  'd  rather  have  had  any  other 
man  in  London  for  a  rival !  Twenty  and  more  years  ago 
how  he  cut  me  out  with  that  handsome  Virginie  Peaude- 
rose,  that  we  were  both  such  mad  boys  after  in  Paris. 
However,  it  will  be  odd  if  I  can't  win  the  day  here.  A 
Goodwood  rejected — pooh!  There  isn't  a  woman  in 
England  that  would  do  it!"  thought  Goodwood,  as  he 
drove  down  the  Fulham  Road. 

" '  His  manor ! '  Who 's  told  him  it 's  his  ?  And  if  it 
be,  what  is  that  to  me  ? "  thought  Carruthers,  as  he  got 
into  his  tilbury.  "  Philip,  you  're  not  a  fool,  like  the  rest 
of  them,  I  hope  ?  You  've  not  forsworn  yourself  surely  ? 
Pshaw ! — nonsense !  — impossible  I " 

"  Certainly  she  has  something  very  charming  about  her. 
If  I  were  a  man  I  don't  think  I  could  resist  her,"  thought 
Lady  Marabout,  as  she  sat  in  her  box  in  the  grand  tier, 
tenth  from  the  Queen's,  moving  her  fan  slowly,  lifting 
her  lorgnon  now  and  then,  listening  vaguely  to  the  music 
of  the  second  act  of  the  "  Barbiere,"  for  probably  about 
the  two  hundredth  time  in  her  life,  and  looking  at  Flora 
Montolieu,  sitting  opposite  to  her. 

"  The  women  are  eternally  asking  me  who  she  is.  1 
don't  care  a  hang  who,  but  she 's  the  prettiest  thing  in 
London,"  said  Fulke  Nugent,  which  was  the  v/armest 
praise  that  any  living  man  about  town  remembered  to 
have  heard  fall  from  his  lips,  which  limited  themselves 
religiously  to  one  legitimate  laudation,  which  is  a  super- 
lative nowadays,  though  Mr.  Lindley  Murray,  if  alive, 
wouldn't,  perhaps,  receive  or  recognize  it  as  such:  "Not 
bad-looking." 

"It  isn't  who  a  woman  is,  it's  what  she  is,  that's  the 
question,  I  take  it,"  said  Goodwood,  as  he  left  the  Guards' 
box  to  visit  the  Marabout. 


196  LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES. 

"  ]Jy  George ! "  laughed  Nugent  to  Cairuthers,  "Goodey 
muijt  be  serious,  eh,  Phil  ?  He  don't  care  a  button  for 
little  Bibi ;  he  don't  care  even  for  Zerliua.  When  the 
ballet  begins,  I  verily  believe  he  's  thinking  less  of  the 
women  before  him  than  of  the  woman  who  has  left  the 
house ;  and  if  a  fellow  can  give  more  ominous  signs  of 
being  'serious,'  as  the  women  phrase  it,  I  don't  knoy  'em, 
do  you?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  that  sort  of  thing  at  all ! " 
muttered  Carruthers,  as  he  went  out  to  follow  Goodwood 
to  the  Marabout  box. 

That  is  an  old,  old  story,  that  of  the  fair  Emily  stir- 
ring feud  between  Palaraon  and  Arcite.  It  has  been 
acted  out  many  a  time  since  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  lived 
and  wrote  their  twin-thoughts  and  won  their  twin  laurels ; 
but  the  bars  that  shut  the  kinsmen  in  their  prison-walls, 
the  ivy-leaves  that  filled  in  the  rents  of  their  prison- 
rtones,  were  not  more  entirely  and  blissfully  innocent  of 
the  feud  going  on  within,  and  the  battle  foaming  near 
them,  than  the  calm,  complacent  soul  of  Lady  Marabout 
was  of  the  rivalry  going  on  close  beside  her  for  the  sake 
of  little  Montolieu. 

She  certainly  thought  Philip  made  himself  specially 
brilliant  and  agreeable  that  night ;  but  then  that  was 
nothing  new,  he  was  famous  for  talking  well,  and  liked 
his  mother  enough  not  seldom  to  shower  out  for  her  some 
of  his  very  best  things ;  certainly  she  thought  Goodwood 
did  not  shine  by  the  contrast,  and  looked,  to  use  an  undig- 
nified word,  rather  cross  than  otherwise  ;  but  then  nobody 
did  shine  beside  Philip,  and  she  knew  a  reason  that  made 
Goodwood  pardonably  cross  at  the  undesired  presence  of 
his  oldest  and  dearest  chum.  Even  she  almost  Avished 
Philip  away.  If  the  presence  of  her  idolized  son  could 
have  been  unwelcome  to  her  at  any  time,  it  was  so  that 
night. 

"  It  is  n't  like  Philip  to  monopolize  her  so.  he  who  has 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  197 

BO  much  tact  usually,  and  cares  nothing  for  girls  himself," 
thought  Lady  Marabout;  "he  must  do  it  for  mischief, 
and  yet  that  is  n't  like  him  at  all ;  it 's  very  tiresome,  at 
any  rate." 

And  with  that  skilful  diplomacy  in  such  matters,  on 
which,  if  it  was  sometimes  overthrown.  Lady  Marabout 
not  unjustly  plumed  herself,  she  dexterously  entangled 
Carruthers  in  conversation,  and  during  the  crash  of  one 
of  the  choruses  whispered,  as  he  bent  forward  to  pick  up 
her  fan,  which  she  had  let  drop, 

"  Leave  Flora  a  little  to  Goodwood  ;  he  has  a  right — 
he  spoke  decisively  to  her  to-day." 

Carruthers  bowed  his  head,  and  stooped  lower  for  the  fan. 
He  left  her  accordingly  to  Goodwood  till  the  curtain 
fell  after  the  last  act  of  the  "  Barbiere ;"  and  Lady  Mar- 
about congratulated  herself  on  her  own  adroitness. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  a  little  tact,"  she  thought ;  "  what 
would  society  be  without  the  guiding  genius  of  tact,  I 
wonder  ?     One  dreadful  Donnybrook  Fair ! " 

But,  someway  or  other,  despite  all  her  tact,  or  because 
her  sou  inherited  that  valuable  quality  in  a  triple  measure 
to  herself,  someway,  it  was  Goodwood  who  led  her  to  her 
carriage,  and  Carruthers  who  led  the  little  Montolieu. 

"Terribly  hete  of  Philip;  how  very  unlike  him!" 
mused  Lady  Marabout,  as  she  gathered  her  burnous  round 
her. 

Carruthers  talked  and  laughed  as  he  led  Flora  Mon- 
tolieu through  the  passages,  more  gayly,  perhaps,  than 
usual. 

"  My  mother  has  told  me  some  news  to-night,  Misa 
Montolieu,"  he  said,  carelessly.  "Am  I  premature  In 
proffering  you  my  congratulations?  But  even  if  I  be  so, 
you  will  not  refuse  the  privilege  to  an  old  friend — to  u 
very  sincere  friend  —  and  will  allow  me  to  be  the  first  to 
wish  you  happiness?" 

Lady  Marabout's   carriage   stopi)ed   the  way.     Flora 


198         LADY  MARABOUT'S  TROUBLES. 

Montolieu  colored,  looked  full  at  him,  and  went  to  it, 
without  having  time  to  answer  his  congratulations,  in 
which  the  keenest-sighted  hearer  would  have  failed  to 
detect  anything  beyond  every-day  friendship  and  genuine 
indifference.  The  most  truthful  men  will  make  the  most 
consummate  actors  when  spurred  up  to  it. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  look  ill  to-night ;  I  am  glad  you 
have  no  engagements,"  said  Lady  Marabout,  as  she  sat 
down  before  the  dressing-room  fire,  toasting  her  little 
satin-shod  foot — she  has  a  weakness  for  fire  even  in  the 
hottest  weather  —  while  Flora  Montolieu  lay  back  in  a 
low  chair,  crushing  the  roses  mercilessly.  "  You  do  feel 
well  ?  I  should  not  have  thought  so,  your  face  looks  so 
flushed,  and  your  eyes  so  preternaturally  dark.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  late  hours ;  you  were  not  used  to  them  in  France, 
of  course,  and  it  must  be  such  a  change  to  this  life  from 
your  unvarying  conventual  routine  at  St.  Denis.  My  love, 
what  was  it  Lord  Goodwood  said  to  you  to-day?" 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  him,  Lady  Marabout,  I  hate 
his  name ! " 

Lady  Marabout  started  with  an  astonishment  that 
nearly  upset  the  cup  of  coffee  she  was  sipping. 

"  Hate  his  name?  My  dearest  Flora,  why,  in  Heaven's 
name?" 

Flora  did  not  answer ;  she  pulled  the  roses  off  her  hair 
as  though  they  had  been  infected  with  Brinvilliers'  poison. 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"iJe  has  done  nothing ! " 

"  Who  has  done  anything,  then?" 

"  Oh,  no  one — no  one  has  done  anything,  but — I  am 
sick  of  Lord  Goodwood's  name — tired  of  it!" 

Lady  Marabout  sat  almost  speechless  with  surprise 

"Tired  of  it,  my  dear  Flora?" 

Little  Montolieu  laughed : 

"  Well,  tired  of  it,  perhaps  from  hearing  him  praised 
BO  often,  as  the  Athenian  trader  grew  sick  of  Aristidcs, 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  199 

ftnd  the  Jacobin  of  Washingtou's  name.  Is  it  unpardon- 
ably  heterodox  to  say  so?" 

Lady  Marabout  stirred  her  coffee  in  perplexity : 

"  My  dear  child,  pray  dou't  speak  in  that  way ;  that 's 
like  Philip's  tone  when  he  is  enigmatical  and  sarcastic, 
and  worries  me.  I  really  cannot  in  the  least  understand 
you  about  Lord  Goodwood,  it  is  quite  incomprehensible 
to  me.  I  thought  I  overheard  him  to-day  at  Lady 
George's  concert  speak  very  definitely  to  you  indeed,  and 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  Duchess  before  you  could 
give  him  his  reply,  I  thought  I  heard  him  say  he  should 
call  to-morrow  morning  to  know  your  ultimate  decision. 
Was  I  right?" 

"  Quite  right." 

"He  really  proposed  marriage  to  you  to-day?" 

"Yes." 

"And  yet  you  say  you  are  sick  of  his  name?" 

"Does  it  follow,  imperatively,  Lady  Marabout,  that 
because  the  Sultan  throws  his  handkerchief,  it  must  be 
picked  up  with  humility  and  thanksgiving?"  asked  Flora 
Montolieu,  furling  and  unfurling  her  fan  with  an  im- 
patient rapidity  that  threatened  entire  destruction  of  its 
ivory  and  feathers,  Avith  their  Watteau-like  group  elabo- 
rately painted  on  them  —  as  pretty  a  toy  of  the  kind  as 
could  be  got  for  money,  which  had  been  given  her  by  Car- 
ruthers  one  day  in  payment  of  some  little  bagatelle  of  a  bet. 

"  Sultan !  —  Humility  ! "  repeated  Lady  Marabout, 
scarcely  crediting  her  senses.  "  My  dear  Flora,  do  you 
know  what  you  are  saying  ?  You  must  be  jesting  !  There 
is  not  a  woman  in  England  who  would  be  insensible  to 
the  honor  of  Goodwood's  proposals.  You  are  jesting, 
Flora!" 

"  T  am  not,  indeed ! " 

"  You  mean  to  say,  you  could  positively  think  oi' reject- 
ing him  !"  cried  Lady  Marabout,  rising  from  her  cliair  in 
the  intensity  of  her  amazement,  convinced  that  she  was 
the  victim  of  some  horrible  hallucination. 


200         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

"  Why  should  it  surprise  you  if  I  did?" 

"  Why?"  repeated  Lady  Marabout,  indignantly.  "Do 
you  ask  me  why  f  You  must  be  a  child,  indeed,  or  a 
consummate  actress,  to  put  such  a  question ;  excuse  me, 
my  dear,  if  I  speak  a  little  strongly :  you  perfectly  be- 
wilder me,  and  I  confess  I  cannot  see  your  motives  or 
your  meaning  in  the  least.  You  have  made  a  conquest 
such  as  the  proudest  women  in  the  peerage  have  vainly 
tried  to  make ;  you  have  one  of  the  highest  titles  in  the 
country  offered  to  you  ;  you  have  won  a  man  whom  every- 
body declared  would  never  be  won ;  you  have  done  this, 
pardon  me,  without  either  birth  or  fortune  on  your  own 
side,  and  then  you  speak  of  rejecting  Goodwood — Good- 
wood, of  all  the  men  in  England  !  You  cannot  be  serious, 
Flora,  or,  if  you  are,  you  must  be  mad!" 

Lady  Marabout  spoke  more  hotly  than  Lady  Marabout 
had  ever  spoken  in  all  her  life.  Goodwood  absolutely 
won — Goodwood  absolutely  "come  to  the  point" — the 
crowning  humiliation  of  the  Hauttons  positively  within 
her  grasp  —  her  Marathon  and  Lemnos  actually  gained  ! 
and  all  to  be  lost  and  flung  away  by  the  unaccountable 
caprice  of  a  wayward  child  !  It  was  sufficient  to  exasper- 
ate a  saint,  and  a  saint  Lady  Marabout  never  preteudcci 
to  be. 

Flora  Montolieu  toyed  recklessly  with  her  fan. 

"  You  told  Sir  Philip  this  evening,  I  think,  of " 

"  I  hinted  it  to  him,  my  dear — yes.  Philip  has  known 
all  along  how  much  I  desired  it,  and  as  Goodwood  is  one 
of  his  oldest  and  most  favorite  friends,  I  knew  it  would 
give  him  sincere  pleasure  both  for  my  sake  and  Good- 
wood's, and  yours  too,  for  I  think  Philip  likes  you  as 
much  as  he  ever  does  any  young  girl  —  better,  indeed; 
and  I  could  not  imagine — I  could  not  dream  for  an 
instant — that  there  was  any  doubt  of  your  acceptation,  as, 
indeed,  there  cannot  be.  You  have  been  jesting  to  worry 
me,  Flora  P' 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  201 

Little  Montolieu  rose,  threw  her  fan  asirle,  as  if  ita 
ivory  stems  had  been  liot  iron,  and  leaned  against  the 
mantelpiece. 

"  You  advise  me  to  accept  Lord  Goodwood,  then,  Lady- 
Marabout?" 

"My  love,  if  you  need  my  advice,  certainly! — such  an 
alliance  will  never  be  proffered  to  you  again ;  the  brilliant 
position  it  will  place  you  in  I  surely  have  no  need  to  point 
out ! "  returned  Lady  Marabout.  "  The  little  hypocrite ! " 
she  mused,  angrily,  "  as  if  her  own  mind  Avere  not  fully 
made  up  —  as  if  any  girl  in  Europe  would  hesitate  over 
accepting  the  Doncaster  coronet  —  as  if  a  nameless  Mon- 
tolieu could  doubt  for  a  moment  her  own  delight  at  being 
created  Marchioness  of  Goodwood !  Such  a  triumph  as 
that  —  why  I  would  n't  credit  aiiy  woman  who  pretended 
she  was  n't  dazzled  by  it ! " 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  approve  of  marriages  of  con- 
venience ?  " 

Lady  Marabout  played  a  tattoo  —  slightly  perplexed 
tattoo  —  with  her  spoon  in  her  Sevres  saucer. 

"No  more  I  do,  my  dear — that  is,  under  some  circum- 
stances; it  is  impossible  to  lay  down  a  fixed  rule  for 
everything!  Marriages  of  convenience  —  well,  perhaps 
not ;  but  as  /  understand  these  words,  they  mean  a  mere 
business  affair,  arranged  as  they  are  in  France,  without 
the  slightest  regard  to  the  inclinations  of  either ;  merely 
regarding  whether  the  incidents  of  fortune,  birth,  and 
station  are  equal  and  suitable.  Marriages  de  convenance 
are  when  a  parvenu  barters  his  gold  for  good  blood,  or 
where  an  ancienne  jirincesse  mends  her  fortune  with  a 
nouveau  riche,  profound  indifference,  meanwhile,  on  each 
side.  I  do  not  call  this  so ;  decidedly  not !  Goodwood 
must  be  very  deeply  attached  to  you  to  have  forgotten 
his  detestation  of  marriage,  and  laid  such  a  title  as  his  at 
your  feet.  Have  you  any  idea  of  the  weight  of  the  Dukes 
of  Doncaster  in  the  country?     Have  you  any  notion  of 


202         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

what  their  rent-roll  is?  Have  you  any  conception  of 
their  enormous  influence,  their  very  high  place,  the  mag- 
nificence of  their  seats  ?  Helmsley  almost  equals  Windsor ! 
All  these  are  yours  if  you  will ;  and  you  afiect  to  hesi- 
tate  " 

"  To  let  Lord  Goodwood  buy  me ! " 

"Buy  you?  Your  phraseology  is  as  strange  as  my 
.son's ! " 

"  To  accept  him  only  for  the  coronet  and  the  rent-roll, 
his  position  and  his  Helmsley,  seems  not  a  very  grateful 
and  flattering  return  for  his  preference  ? " 

"  I  do  not  see  that  at  all,  said  Lady  Marabout,  irritably. 
Is  there  anything  more  annoying  than  to  have  unwelcome 
truths  thrust  in  our  teeth  ?  "  It  is  not  as  though  he  were 
odious  to  you — a  hideous  man,  a  coarse  man,  a  cruel  man, 
whose  very  presence  repelled  you.  Goodwood  is  a  man 
quite  attractive  enough  to  merit  some  regard,  independent 
of  his  position  ;  you  have  an  afiectionate  nature,  you 
would  soon  grow  attached  to  him " 

Flora  Montolieu  shook  her  head. 

"And,  in  fact,"  she  went  on,  warming  with  her  subject, 
and  speaking  all  the  more  determinedly  because  she  was 
speaking  a  little  against  her  conscience,  and  wholly  for 
her  inclinations,  "  my  dear  Flora,  if  you  need  persuasion 
—  which  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  doubt  your  doing  in 
your  heart,  for  I  cannot  credit  any  woman  as  being  in- 
sensible to  the  suit  of  a  future  Duke  of  Doncaster,  or 
invulnerable  to  the  honor  it  does  her — if  you  need  per- 
Buasion,  I  should  think  I  need  only  refer  to  the  happiness 
it  will  afford  your  poor  dear  mother,  amidst  her  many 
trials,  to  hear  of  so  brilliant  a  triumph  for  you.  You  are 
proud  —  Goodwood  will  place  you  in  a  position  where 
pride  may  be  indulged  with  impunity,  nay,  with  advan- 
tage. Y'^ou  are  ambitious — what  can  flatter  your  ambition 
more  than  such  an  offer.  You  are  clever — as  Goodwood's 
wife  you  may  lead  society  like  Madame  de  Kambouillet 


LADY    MARABOUT'S    TROUBLES.  203 

or  immerse  yourself  in  political  intrigue  like  the  Duchesa 
of  Devonshire.  It  is  an  offer  which  places  within  your 
reach  everything  most  dazzling  and  attractive,  and  it  is 
one,  my  dear  Flora,  which  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  say 
a  young  girl  of  obscure  rank,  as  rank  goes,  and  no  fortune 
whatever,  should  pause  before  she  lightly  rejects.  You 
cannot  afford  to  be  ftistidious  as  if  you  were  an  heiress  or 
a  lady-in-your-own-right." 

That  was  as  ill-natured  a  thing  as  the  best-natured  lady 
in  Christendom  ever  said  on  the  spur  of  self-interest,  and 
it  stung  Flora  Moutolieu  more  than  her  hostess  dreamed. 

The  color  flushed  into  her  face  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"  You  have  said  sufficient.  Lady  Marabout.  I  accept 
the  Marquis  to-morrow ! " 

And  taking  up  her  fan  and  her  opera-cloak,  leaving 
the  discarded  roses  unheeded  on  the  floor,  she  bade  her 
chaperone  good-night,  and  floated  out  of  the  dressing- 
room,  while  Lady  Marabout  sat  stirring  the  cream  in  a 
second  cup  of  coffee,  a  good  deal  puzzled,  a  little  awed  by 
the  odd  turn  affairs  had  taken,  with  a  slight  feeling  of 
guilt  for  her  own  share  in  the  transaction,  an  uncomfort- 
able dread  lest  the  day  should  ever  come  when  Flora 
should  reproach  her  for  having  persuaded  her  into  the 
marriage,  a  comfortable  conviction  that  nothing  but  good 
could  come  of  such  a  brilliant  and  enviable  alliance,  and, 
above  all  other  conflicting  feelings,  one  delicious,  domi- 
nant, glorified  security  of  triumph  over  the  Hauttons, 
w^re  et  filles. 

But  when  morning  dawned.  Lady  Marabout's  horizon 
teemed  cleared  of  all  clouds,  and  only  radiant  wdth  un- 
shadowed sunshine.  Goodwood  was  coming,  and  coming 
to  be  accepted. 

She  seemed  already  to  read  the  newspaper  paragra))hs 
announcing  liis  cai)ture  and  Flora's  conquest,  already  to 
hear  the  IlauUons'  enforced  congratulations,  already  to 
nee  the  nuptial  pai-ty  gathvred  round  the  altar  rail  of  St. 


204         LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES. 

George's.  Lady  Marabout  had  never  felt  in  a  sunnier, 
more  light-hearted  mood,  never  more  completely  at  peace 
with  herself  and  all  the  world  as  she  sat  in  her  boudoir 
at  her  writing-table,  penning  a  letter  which  began  : 

"  My  dearest  Lilla, — What  happiness  it  gives  me 
to  congratulate  you  on  the  brilliant  future  opening  to 
your  sweet  Flora " 

And  which  would  have  continued,  no  doubt,  with 
similar  eloquence  if  it  had  not  been  interrupted  by 
Soames  opening  the  door  and  announcing  "  Sir  Philip 
Carruthers,"  who  Avalked  in,  touched  his  mother's  brow 
with  his  moustaches,  and  went  to  stand  on  the  hearth  with 
his  arm  on  the  manteljiiece. 

"My  dear  Philip,  you  never  congratulated  rae  last 
night ;  pray  do  so  now  ! "  cried  Lady  Marabout,  delight- 
edly, wiping  her  pen  on  the  pennon,  which  a  small  ormolu 
knight  obligingly  carried  for  that  useful  purpose.  Ladies 
always  wipe  their  pens  as  religiously  as  they  bolt  their 
bedroom  doors,  believe  in  cosmetics,  and  go  to  church  on 
a  Sunday. 

"  Was  your  news  of  last  night  true,  then?"  asked  Car- 
ruthers, bending  forwards  to  roll  Bijou  on  its  back  with 
his  foot. 

"  That  Goodwood  had  spoken  definitively  to  her?  Per- 
fectly. He  proposed  to  her  yesterday  at  the  Frangipane 
concert  —  not  at  the  concert,  of  course,  but  afterwards, 
when  they  were  alone  for  a  moment  in  the  conservatories. 
The  Duchess  interrupted  them  —  did  it  on  purpose — and 
he  had  only  time  to  whisper  hurriedly  he  should  come 
this  morning  to  hear  his  fjite.  I  dare  say  he  felt  tolerably 
secure  of  it.  Last  night  I  naturally  spoke  to  Flora  about 
it.  Oddly  enough,  she  seemed  positively  to  think  at  first 
of  rejecting  him — rejecting  him!  —  only  fancy  the  mad- 
ness! Between  ourselves,  I  don't  think  she  cares  any- 
thing about  him,  but  with  su'h  au  alliance  as  that,  of 


LADY    marabout's    TROUBLES.  205 

course  I  felt  it  my  bounden  duty  to  counsel  her  aa 
Btrongly  as  I  could  to  accept  the  unequalled  position  it 
proffered  her.  Indeed,  it  could  have  been  only  a  girl's 
waywardness,  a  child's  caprice  to  pretend  to  hesitate,  for 
Bhe  is  very  ambitious  and  very  clever,  and  I  Avould  never 
believe  that  any  woman — and  she  less  than  any  —  would 
be  proof  against  such  dazzling  prospects.  It  would  be 
absurd,  you  know,  Philip.  Whether  it  was  hypocrisy  or 
a  real  reluctance,  because  she  does  n't  feel  for  him  the 
idealic  love  she  dreams  of,  I  don't  know,  but  I  put  it 
before  her  in  a  way  that  plainly  showed  her  all  the  bril- 
liance of  the  proffered  position,  and  before  she  bade  me 
good  night,  I  had  vanquished  all  her  scruples,  if  she  had 
any,  and  I  am  able  to  say " 

"Good  God,  what  have  you  done?" 

"  Done  ?  "  re-echoed  Lady  Marabout,  vaguely  terrified. 
"  Certainly  I  persuaded  her  to  accept  him.  She  has  ac- 
cepted him  probably ;  he  is  here  now !  I  should  have 
been  a  strange  person  indeed  to  let  any  young  girl  in  my 
charge  rashl}'  refuse  such  an  offer." 

"  You  induced  her  to  accept  him  !     God  forgive  you ! " 

Lady  Marabout  turned  T^a]*^  as  death,  and  gazed  at  him 
with  undefinable  terror  ■ 

"Philip!     You  do  not  mean " 

"  Great  Heavens !  have  you  never  seen,  mother ?" 

He  leaned  his  arms  on  the  marble,  with  his  forehead 
bowed  upon  them,  and  Lady  Marabout  gazed  at  him  still, 
as  a  bird  at  a  basilisk. 

"Philip,  Philip!  what  have  I  done?  How  could  I 
tell?"  she  murmured,  distractedly,  tears  welling  into  her 
eyes.  "  If  I  had  only  known  !  But  how  could  I  dream 
that  child  had  any  fascination  for  you?  How  could  I 
fancy " 

"  Hush !  No,  you  are  in  no  way  to  blame.  You  could 
not  know  it.  /barely  knew  it  till  last  night,"  he  answered, 
gently. 

18 


206  LADY    MARAuOUT's    TROUBLES. 

**  Philip  loves  her,  and  I  have  made  her  marry  Good- 
wood ! "  thought  Lady  Marabout,  agonized,  remorseful, 
conscience-struck,  heart-broken  in  a  thousand  ways  at 
once.  The  climax  of  her  woes  was  reached,  life  had  no 
greater  bitterness  for  her  left ;  her  son  loved,  and  loved 
the  last  woman  in  England  she  would  have  had  him  love; 
that  woman  was  given  to  another,  and  she  had  been  the 
instrument  of  wrecking  the  life  to  save  or  serve  which  she 
would  have  laid  down  her  own  in  glad  and  instant  sacri- 
fice! Lady  Marabout  bowed  her  head  under  a  grief, 
before  which  the  worries  so  great  before,  the  schemes  but 
BO  lately  so  precious,  the  small  triumphs  just  now  so  all- 
absorbing,  shrank  away  into  their  due  insignificance. 
Philip  suffering,  and  suffering  through  her !  Self  glided 
far  away  from  Lady  Marabout's  memory  then,  and  she 
hated  herself,  more  fiercely  than  the  gentle-hearted  soul 
had  ever  hated  any  foe,  for  her  own  criminal  share  in 
bringing  down  this  unforeseen  terrific  blow  on  her  beloved 
one's  head. 

"Philip,  my  dearest,  what  can  I  do?"  she  cried,  dis- 
tractedly ;  "  if  I  had  thought  —  if  I  had  guessed " 

"  Do  nothing.  A  woman  who  could  give  herself  to  a 
man  whom  she  did  not  love  should  be  no  wife  of  mine, 
let  me  suffer  what  I  might." 

"  But  I  persuaded  her,  Philip !     Mine  is  the  blame ! " 

His  lips  quivered  painfully  : 

"  Had  she  cared  for  me  as  —  I  may  have  fancied,  she 
had  not  been  so  easy  to  persuade !  She  has  much  force 
of  character,  where  she  wills.  He  is  here  now,  you  say ; 
I  cannot  risk  meeting  him  just  yet.  Leave  me  for  a  little 
while;  leave  me  —  I  am  best  alone." 

Gentle  though  he  always  was  to  her,  his  mother  knew 
him  too  well  ever  to  dispute  his  will,  and  the  most  bitter 
tears  Lady  Marabout  had  ever  known,  ready  as  she  was 
to  weep  for  other  people's  woes,  and  rarely  as  she  had 
to  weep  for  any  of  her  own,  choked  her  utterance  and 


xjADY  marabout's  troubles.  207 

oJmded  her  eyes  as  she  obeyed  and  ch)sed  the  door  on 
his  solitude.  Philip  —  her  idolized  Philip  —  that  ever 
her  house  should  have  sheltered  this  creature  to  bring  a 
curse  upon  him  !  that  ever  she  should  have  brought  this 
tropical  flower  to  poison  the  air  for  the  only  one  dear  to 
her! 

"  I  am  justly  punished,"  thought  Lady  Marabout, 
humbly  and  penitentially  —  "  justly.  I  thought  wickedly 
of  Anne  Hautton.  I  did  not  do  as  I  would  be  done  by. 
I  longed  to  enjoy  their  mortification.  I  advised  Flora 
against  my  own  conscience  and  against  hers.  I  am  justly 
chastised !  But  that  he  should  suffer  through  me,  that 
my  fault  has  fallen  on  his  head,  that  my  Philip,  my 
noble  Philip,  should  love  and  not  be  loved,  and  that  / 
have  brought  it  on  him Good  Heaven  !  Avhat  is  that  ?  " 

"  That "  was  a  man  whom  her  eyes,  being  misty  with 
tears.  Lady  Marabout  had  brushed  against,  as  she  ascended 
the  staircase,  ere  she  perceived  him,  and  who,  passing  on 
with  a  muttered  apology,  Avas  down  in  the  hall  and  out 
of  the  door  Mason  held  open  before  she  had  recovered 
the  shock  of  the  rencontre,  much  before  she  had  a  possi- 
bility of  recognizing  him  through  the  mist  aforesaid. 

A  fear,  a  hope,  a  joy,  a  dread,  one  so  woven  with 
another  there  was  no  disentangling  them,  sprang  up  like 
a  ray  of  light  in  Lady  Marabout's  heart  —  a  possibility 
dawned  in  her :  to  be  rejected  as  an  impossibility  ?  Lady 
Marabout  crossed  the  ante-room,  her  heart  throbbing 
tumultuously,  spurred  on  to  noble  atonement  and  reckless 
self-sacrifice,  if  fate  allowed  them. 

She  opened  the  drawing-room  door ;  Flora  Montolieu 
was  alone. 

"Flora,  you  have  seen  Goodwood?" 

She  turned,  her  own  face  as  pale  and  her  own  eyes  as 
dim  as  Lady  Marabout's. 

"  Yes." 

*'  You  have  refused  him  ?" 


208         LADY  MARAROUT'S  TROUBLES. 

Flora  Montolieu  misconstrued  her  ehaperoni's  eager- 
ness, and  answered  haughtily  enough  : 

"  I  have  told  him  that  indifference  would  be  too  poor 
a  return  for  his  affections  to  insult  him  with  it,  and  that 
I  would  not  do  him  the  injury  of  repaying  his  trust  by 
falsehood  and  deception.  I  meant  what  I  said  to  you 
last  night ;  I  said  it  on  the  spur  of  pain,  indignation,  no 
matter  what ;  but  I  could  not  keep  my  word  when  the 
trial  came." 

Lady  Marabout  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  with  a  fer- 
vent gratitude  that  not  a  little  bewildered  the  recipient. 

"  My  dear  child  !  thank  God !  little  as  I  thought  to  say 
80.     Flora,  tell  me,  you  love  some  one  else?" 

"Lady  Marabout,  you  have  no  right " 

"Yes,  I  have  a  right  —  the  strongest  right!  Is  not 
that  other  my  son  ?" 

Flora  Montolieu  looked  up,  then  dropped  her  head  and 
burst  into  tears  —  tears  that  Lady  Marabout  soothed  then, 
tears  that  Carruthers  soothed,  yet  more  effectually  still, 
five  minutes  afterwards. 

"  That  /  should  have  sued  that  little  Montolieu,  and 
sued  to  her  for  Philip ! "  mused  Lady  Marabout,  "  It  is 
very  odd.  Perhaps  I  get  used  to  being  crossed  and  dis- 
appointed and  trampled  on  in  every  way  and  by  every- 
body ;  but  certainly,  though  it  is  most  contrary  to  my 
wishes,  though  a  child  like  that  is  the  last  person  I  should 
ever  have  chosen  or  dreamt  of  as  Philip's  wife,  though  it 
is  a  great  pain  to  me,  and  Anne  Hautton  of  course  will 
be  delighted  to  rake  up  everything  she  can  about  the 
Montolieus,  and  it  is  heart-breaking  when  one  thinks  how 
a  Carruthers  might  marry,  how  the  Carruthers  always 
have  married,  rarely  any  but  ladies  in  their  own  right  for 
countless  generations,  still  it  is  very  odd,  but  I  certainly 
feel  happier  than  ever  I  did  in  my  life,  annoyed  as  I  am 
and  grieved  as  I  am.     It  is  heart-breaking  (that  horrid 


LADY  marabout's  TROUBLES.  209 

John  Moutolieu !  I  wonder  -what  relation  one  stands  in 
legally  to  the  father  of  one's  son's  wife;  I  will  ask  Sir 
Fitzroy  Kelley ;  not  that  the  Montolieus  are  likely  to 
come  to  England)  —  it  is  very  sad  when  one  thinks  whom 
Philip  might  have  married ;  and  yet  she  certainly  is  in- 
finitely charming,  and  she  really  appreciates  and  under- 
stands him.  If  it  were  not  for  what  Anne  Hautton  will 
always  say,  I  could  really  be  pleased  !  To  think  what 
an  anxious  hope,  what  a  dreaded  ideal,  Philip's  wife  has 
always  been  to  me  ;  and  now,  just  as  I  had  got  reconciled 
to  his  determined  bachelor  preferences,  and  had  grown  to 
argue  with  him  that  it  was  best  he  should  n't  marry,  he 
goes  and  falls  in  love  with  this  child  !  Everything  is  at 
cross-purposes  in  life,  I  think!  There  is  only  one  thing 
I  am  resolved  upon  —  I  will  never  chaperone  anybody 
again." 

And  she  kept  her  vow.  None  can  christen  her  Lady 
Tattersall  any  longer  with  point,  for  there  are  no  yearling 
sales  in  that  house  in  Lowndes  Square,  whatever  there  be 
in  the  other  domiciles  of  that  fashionable  quarter.  Lady 
Marabout  has  shaken  that  burden  off  her  shoulders,  and 
moves  in  blissful  solitude  and  tripled  serenity  through 
Belgravia,  relieved  of  responsibility,  and  wearing  her 
years  as  lightly,  losing  the  odd  trick  at  her  whist  as 
sunnily,  and  beaming  on  the  world  in  general  as  radiantly 
as  any  dowager  in  the  English  Peerage. 

That  she  was  fully  reconciled  to  Carruthers's  change  of 
resolve  Avas  shown  in  the  fact  that  when  Anne  Hautton 
turned  to  her,  on  the  evening  of  his  marriage-day,  after 
the  dinner  to  which  Lady  Marabout  had  bidden  all  her 
friends,  and  a  good  many  of  her  foes,  with  an  amiable 
murmur: 

"  I  am  ?o  grieved  for  you,  dearest  Helena  —  I  know 
what  your  disappointment  must  be !  —  what  should  /  feel 

if   Hautton Your  hcllc-fiUe    is    charming,   certainly, 

very  lovely  ;  but  then  —  such  a  connection!  You  have 
1«*  o 


210  LADY    MARABOUT  S    TROUBLES 

my  deepest  sympathies  !  I  always  told  you  how  wrong 
you  were  when  you  fancied  Goodwood  admired  little 
Montolieu  —  I  beg  her  pardon,  I  mean  Lady  Carrutheis 
—  but  you  will  give  your  imagination  such  reins ! " 

Lady  Marabcmt  smiled,  calmly  and  amusedly,  felt  no 
pang,  and  —  thought  of  Philip. 

I  take  it  things  must  be  very  rose-colored  with  us  when 
we  can  smile  sincerely  on  our  enemies,  and  defeat  tl  iif 
Btings  simply  because  we  feel  them  not. 


A  STUDY  A  LA  LOUIS  QUINZE ; 

OB, 

PENDANT  TO  A  PASTEL  BY  LA  TOUR. 


0  HAVE,  among  others  hanging  on  my  wall,  a 
pastel  of  La  Tour's ;  of  the  aitist-lover  of  Julie 
Fel,  of  the  monarch  of  pastellistes,  the  touch  of 
whose  crayons  was  a  "  brevet  of  wit  and  of  beauty,"  and 
on  whose  easel  bloomed  afresh  the  laughing  eyes,  the 
brilliant  tints,  the  rose-hued  lips  of  all  the  loveliest  women 
of  the  "Regne  Galant,"  from  the  princesses  of  the  Blood 
of  the  House  of  Bourbon  to  the  princesses  of  the  green- 
room of  the  Comedie-Francaise.  Painted  in  the  days  of 
Louis  Quinze,  the  light  of  more  than  a  century  having 
fallen  on  its  soft  colors  to  fade  and  blot  them  with  the  icy 
brush  of  time,  my  pastel  is  still  fresh,  still  eloquent.  The 
genius  that  created  it  is  gone — gone  the  beauty  that  in- 
spired it — but  the  picture  is  deathless!  It  shows  me  the 
face  of  a  woman,  of  a  beautiful  woman,  else,  be  sure  she 
would  not  have  been  honored  by  the  crayons  of  La  Tour ; 
her  full  Southern  lips  are  parted  with  a  smile  of  triumph  ; 
a  chcf-d'ceuvre  of  coquetry,  a  head-dress  of  lace  and 
pearls  and  little  bouquets  of  roses  is  on  her  unpowdered 
hair,  which  is  arranged  much  like  Julie  Fel's  herself  iu 
the  portrait  that  hangs,  if  I  remember  right,  at  the  Mu- 
Bee  de  Saint  Quentin  ;  and  her  large  eyes  are  glancing  at 
you  with  languor,  malice,  victory,  all  commingled.  At 
the  back  of  tlie  jiictiire  is  written   "jMlk*.  Thargclic  Du- 

inarsais;"  the  letters  are  faded  audyulluw,  but  the  pastel 

(•Jllj 


212  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

is  living  and  laughing  yet,  through  the  divine  touch  of 
the  genius  of  La  Tour.  With  its  perfume  of  dead  glories, 
with  its  odor  of  the  Beau  Siecle,  the  pastel  hangs  on  my 
wall,  living  relic  of  a  buried  age,  and  sometimes  in  ray 
mournful  moments  the  full  laughing  lips  of  my  pastel 
will  part,  and  breathe,  and  speak  to  me  of  the  distant 
past,  when  Thargelie  Dumarsais  saw  all  Paris  at  her  feet, 
and  was  not  humbled  then  as  now  by  being  only  valued 
and  remembered  for  the  sake  of  the  talent  of  La  Tour. 
My  beautiful  pastel  gives  me  many  confidences.  I  will 
betray  one  to  you  —  a  single  leaf  from  a  life  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century. 

I. 

THE   FIRST   MORNING. 

In  the  heart  of  Lorraine,  nestled  doAvn  among  its  woods, 
stood  an  old  chateau  that  might  have  been  the  chAteau  of 
the  Sleeping  Beauty  of  fairy  fame,  so  sequestered  it  stood 
amidst  its  trees  chained  together  by  fragrant  fetters  of 
honeysuckle  and  wild  vine,  so  undisturbed  slept  the  morn- 
ing shadows  on  the  wild  thyme  that  covered  the  turf,  so 
unbroken  was  the  silence  in  which  the  leaves  barely  stirred, 
and  the  birds  folded  their  wings  and  hushed  their  song  till 
the  heat  of  the  noonday  should  be  passed.  Beyond  the 
purple  hills  stretching  up  in  the  soft  haze  of  distance  in 
the  same  province  of  laughing,  luxurious,  sunlit  Lorraine, 
was  Luneville,  the  Luneville  of  Stanislaus,  Montesquieu, 
of  Voltaire,  of  Henault,  of  Boufflers,  a  Versailles  in 
miniature,  even  possessing  a  perfect  replica  of  Pompadour 
in  its  own  pretty  pagan  of  a  Marquise.  Within  a  few 
leagues  was  Luneville,  but  the  echo  of  its  mots  and  mad- 
rigals did  not  reach  over  the  hills,  did  not  profane  the 
punny  air,  did  not  mingle  with  the  vintage-song  of  the 
vine-dressers,  the  silver  bahl)lc  of  the  woodland  brook, 
the    hushed    chant  of  the  Ave    Maria,  the  vesper   bells 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  21& 

chimed  from  the  churches  and  monasteries,  which  made 
the  ^ole  music  known  or  heard  in  this  little  valley  of 
Lorraine. 

The  chateau  of  Grande  Charmille  stood  nestled  in  its 
woods,  gray,  lonely,  still,  silent  as  death,  yet  not  gloomy, 
for  white  pigeons  circled  above  its  pointed  towers,  brilliant 
dragon-flies  fluttered  above  the  broken  basin  of  the  foun- 
tain that  sang  as  gayly  as  it  rippled  among  the  thyme  as 
though  it  fell  into  a  marble  cup,  and  bees  hummed  their 
busy  happy  buzz  among  the  jessamine  that  clung  to  its 
ivy-covered  walls — walls  built  long  before  Lorraine  had 
ceased  to  be  a  kingdom  and  a  power,  long  before  a  craven 
and  effeminated  Valois  had  dared  to  kick  the  dead  body 
of  a  slaughtered  Guise.  Not  gloomy  with  the  golden 
light  of  a  summer  noon  playing  amidst  the  tangled  boughs 
and  on  the  silvered  lichens ;  not  gloomy,  for  under  the 
elm-boughs  on  the  broken  stone  steps  that  led  to  the 
fountain,  her  feet  half  buried  in  violet-roots  and  wild 
thyme,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  as  she  looked 
into  the  water,  where  the  birds  flew  down  to  drink,  and 
fluttered  their  wings  fearless  of  her  presence,  was  a 
young  girl  of  sixteen  —  and  if  women  sometimes  darken 
lives,  it  must  be  allowed  that  they  always  illumine  land- 
scapes ! 

Aline,  when  Boufllers  saw  her  in  the  spring  morning, 
in  all  the  grace  of  youth  and  beauty,  unconscious  of 
themselves,  made  not  a  prettier  picture  than  this  young 
dreamer  under  the  elm-boughs  of  the  Lorraine  woods,  as 
ehe  bent  over  the  water,  watching  it  bubble  and  splash 
from  the  fountain-spout,  and  hide  itself  with  a  rippling 
murmur  under  the  broad  green  reeds  and  the  leaves  of 
the  water-lily.  She  was  a  charming  picture :  a  brunette 
with  long  ebon  tresses,  with  her  lashes  drooping  over  her 
black,  languid,  almond-shaped  eyes,  a  smile  on  her  half- 
pouted  lips,  and  all  the  innocence  and  dawning  beauty 
of  her  sixteen  years   about  her,  while   she  sat  on   the 


214  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

broken  steps,  now  brushing  the  water-drops  off  the  violets, 
now  weaving  the  reeds  into  a  pretty,  useless  toy,  now 
beckoning  the  birds  that  came  to  peck  on  the  rose-spray8 
beside  her, 

"  Favette  !  where  are  your  dreams?" 

Favette,  the  young  naiad  of  the  Lorraine  elm-woods, 
looked  up,  the  plait  of  rushes  dropping  from  her  hands, 
and  a  warm  sudden  blush  tinging  her  cheeks  and  brow 
with  a  tint  like  that  on  the  damask  rose-leaves  that  had 
fallen  into  the  water,  and  floated  there  like  delicate  shells. 

"Mon  Dieu,  Mousieur  Leon !  how  you  frightened  me  !'* 

And  like  a  startled  fawn,  or  a  young  bird  glancing 
round  at  a  rustle  amidst  the  leaves,  Favette  sprang  up, 
half  shy,  half  smiling,  all  her  treasures  gathered  from 
the  woods — of  flowers,  of  mosses,  of  berries,  of  feathery 
grasses,  of  long  ivy-sprays — falling  from  her  lap  on  to 
the  turf  in  unheeded  disorder. 

"  /  frightened  you,  Favette  ?  Surely  not.  Are  you 
sorry  to  see  me,  then?" 

"  Sorry  ?  Oh  no,  Monsieur  Leon  !  "  and  Favette  glanced 
through  her  thick  cuided  lashes,  slyly  yet  archly,  and 
began  to  braid  again  her  plait  of  rushes, 

"  Come,  tell  me,  then,  what  and  whom  were  you  dream- 
ing of,  ma  mie,  as  you  looked  down  into  the  water  ?  Tell 
me,  Favette,  You  have  no  secrets  from  your  playmate, 
your  friend,  your  brother?" 

Favette  shook  her  head,  smiling,  and  plaited  her  rushes 
all  wrong,  the  blush  on  her  cheeks  as  bright  as  that  on 
the  cups  of  the  rose-leaves  that  the  wind  shook  down  in 
a  fresh  shower  into  the  brook, 

"Come,  tell  me,  mignonne.     Was  it  —  of  me?" 

"  Of  you  ?     Well,  perhaps— yes ! " 

It  was  first  love  that  whispered  in  Favette's  pretty  voice 
those  three  little  words  ;  it  was  first  love  that  answered  in 
his,  as  he  threw  himself  down  on  the  violet-tufted  turf  at 
her  feet,  as  Boufilers  at  Aline's. 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUTS    QIIINZE.  215 

"  All,  Favette,  so  should  it  be !  for  every  hope,  every 
dream,  every  thought  of  7ni7ie,  is  centred  in  and  colored 
by  you." 

"  Yet  you  can  leave  me  to-day,"  pouted  Favette,  with 
a  sigh  an-d  a  moue  tnutine,  and  gathering  tears  in  her 
large  gazelle  eyes. 

"  Leave  you  ?  Would  to  Heaven  I  were  not  forced ! 
But  against  a  king's  will  what  power  has  a  subject  ?  None 
are  too  great,  none  are  too  lowly,  to  be  touched  by  that 
iron  hand  if  they  provoke  its  grasp.  Vincennes  yawns 
for  those  who  dare  to  think,  For-l'Eveque  for  those  who 
dare  to  jest.  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  was  sent  to  the  Bas- 
tille for  merely  defending  a  truth  and  his  own  honor 
against  De  Rohan-Chabot.  Who  am  I,  that  I  should 
look  for  better  grace  ?  " 

Favette  struck  him,  with  her  plaited  rushes,  a  reproach- 
ful little  blow. 

"  Monsieur  Vincennes  —  Monsieur  Voltaire  —  who  are 
they  ?     I  know  nothing  of  those  stupid  people ! " 

He  smiled,  and  fondly  stroked  her  hair : 

"  Little  darling !  The  one  is  a  prison  that  manacles 
the  deadly  crimes  of  Free  Speech  and  Free  Thought; 
the  other,  a  man  who  has  suffered  for  both,  but  loves 
both  still,  and  will,  sooner  or  later,  help  to  give  both  to 
the  world " 

"  Ah,  you  think  of  your  studies,  of  your  ambitions,  of 
your  great  heroes  !  You  think  nothing  of  me,  save  to 
call  me  a  little  darling.     You  are  cruel,  Monsieur  Leon ! " 

And  Favette  twisted  her  hand  from  his  grasp  with 
petulant  sorrow,  and  dashed  away  her  tears  —  the  tears 
of  sixteen  —  as  bright  and  free  from  bitterness  as  the 
water-drops  on  the  violet-bells. 

"  /  cruel  —  and  to  you  !  My  heart  must  indeed  l)e 
badly  echoed  by  my  lips,  if  you  have  cause  to  fancy  so  a 
single  moment.  Cruel  to  you  ?  Favette,  Favette !  is  a 
man  ever  cruel  to  the  dearest  thing  in  his  life,  the  dearest 


216  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

name  in  his  thoughts?  If  I  smiled  I  meant  no  sneer;  1 
love  you  as  you  are,  mignonne  ;  the  picture  is  so  fair,  (me 
touch  added,  or  one  touch  effaced,  would  mar  the  whole 
in  my  eyes.  I  love  you  as  you  are !  with  no  knowledge 
but  what  the  good  sisters  teach  you  in  their  convent  soli- 
tude, and  what  the  songs  of  the  birds,  the  voices  of  the 
flowers,  whisper  to  you  of  their  woodland  lore.  I  love 
you  as  you  are !  Every  morning  when  I  am  far  away 
from  you,  and  from  Lorraine,  I  shall  think  of  you  gather- 
ing the  summer  roses,  calling  the  birds  about  you,  bend- 
ing over  the  fountain  to  see  it  mirror  your  own  beauty ; 
every  evening  I  shall  think  of  you  leaning  from  the 
window,  chanting  softly  to  yourself  the  Ora  pro  nobis, 
while  the  shadows  deepen,  and  the  stars  we  have  so  often 
watched  together  come  out  above  the  pine-hills.  Favette, 
Favette !  exile  will  have  the  bitterness  of  death  to  me : 
to  give  me  strength  to  bear  it,  tell  me  that  you  love  me 
more  dearly  than  as  the  brother  you  have  always  called 
me ;  that  you  will  so  love  me  when  I  shall  be  no  longer 
here  beside  you,  but  shall  have  to  trust  to  memory  and 
fidelity  to  guard  for  me  in  absence  the  priceless  treasure 
of  your  heart?" 

Favette's  head  drooped,  and  her  hands  played  nervously 
with  the  now  torn  and  twisted  braid  of  rushes :  he  saw 
her  heart  beat  under  its  muslin  corsage,  like  a  bee  caught 
and  caged  in  the  white  leaves  of  a  lily  ;  and  she  glanced 
at  him  under  her  lashes  with  a  touch  of  naive  coquetry, 

"  If  I  tell  you  so,  what  gage  have  I,  Monsieur  Leon, 
that,  a  few  months  gone  by,  you  will  even  remember  it  ? 
In  those  magnificent  cities  you  will  soon  forget  Lorraine ; 
with  the  grandes  dames  of  the  courts  you  will  soon  cease 
to  care  for  Favette?" 

"  Look  in  my  eyes,  Favette,  they  alone  can  answer  you 
as  I  would  answer !  Till  we  meet  again  none  shall  sup- 
plant you  for  an  hour,  none  rob  you  of  one  thought ;  you 
have  my  first  love,  you  will  have  my  last.  Favette,  you 
believe  me?" 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  217 

"Yes  —  I  believe!"  murmured  Favette,  resting  her 
large  eyes  fondly  on  him.  "  We  will  meet  as  we  part, 
though  you  are  the  swallow,  free  to  take  flight  over  the 
seas  to  foreign  lands,  and  I  am  the  violet,  that  must  stay 
where  it  is  rooted  in  the  Lorraine  woods ! " 

"Accept  the  augury,"  he  whispered,  resting  his  lipa 
upon  her  low  smooth  brow.  "  Does  not  the  swallow  ever 
return  to  the  violet,  holding  it  fairer  than  all  the  gaudy 
tropical  flowers  that  may  have  tempted  him  to  rest  on  the 
wing  and  delay  his  homeward  flight  ?  Does  not  the  violet 
ever  welcome  him  the  same,  in  its  timid  winning  spring- 
tide loveliness,  when  he  returns  to,  as  when  he  quitted, 
the  only  home  he  loves?  Believe  the  augury,  Favette; 
we  shall  meet  as  we  part ! " 

And  they  believed  the  augury,  as  they  believed  in  life, 
in  love,  in  faith ;  they  who  were  beginning  all,  and  had 
proved  none  of  the  treacherous  triad  ! 

What  had  he  dreamed  of  in  his  solitary  ancestral  wood* 
fairer  than  this  Lorraine  violet,  that  had  grown  up  with 
him,  side  by  side,  since  he,  a  boy  of  twelve,  gathered 
heaths  from  the  clefts  of  the  rocks  that  the  little  child 
of  six  years  old  cried  for  and  could  not  reach?  What 
had  she  seen  that  she  loved  half  so  well  as  M.  le  Cheva- 
lier from  the  Castle,  whom  her  uncle,  the  Cure,  held  as 
his  dearest  and  most  brilliant  pupil,  whose  eyes  always 
looked  so  lovingly  into  hers,  and  whose  voice  was  always 
lavishing  fond  names  on  his  petite  Favette  ? 

They  believed  the  augury,  and  were  happy  even  in  the 
Bweet  sorrow  of  parting  —  sorrow  that  they  had  never 
known  before  —  as  they  sat  together  in  the  morning  sun- 
light, while  the  water  bubbled  among  the  violet  tufts, 
among  the  grasses  and  wild  thyme,  and  the  dragon-Hies 
fluttered  their  green  and  gold  and  purple  wings  amidst 
the  tendrils  of  the  vines,  and  the  rose-leaves,  drifted 
gently  by  the  wind,  floated  down  the  brook,  till  they  were 
lost  in  deepening  shadow  under  the  drooping  boughs. 
19 


218  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

II. 

THE   SECOND   MORNING. 

"  Savez-vous  que  Favart  va  ecrire  une  nouvelle  comedie 
—  La  Chercheuse  d'Esprit  ?  " 

"  Vraiment  ?  II  doit  bien  ecrire  cela,  car  il  s'occupe 
toujours  a  le  chercher,  et  n'arrive  jamais  a  le  trouver ! " 

The  mot  had  true  feminine  malice,  but  the  lips  that  spoke 
it  were  so  handsome,  that  had  even  poor  Favart  himself, 
the  poet-pastrycook  who  composed  operas  and  comedies 
while  he  made  meringues  and  fanfreluches,  and  dreamed 
of  libretti  while  he  whisked  the  cream  for  a  supper,  been 
within  hearing,  they  would  have  taken  the  smart  from 
the  sting ;  and,  as  it  was,  the  hit  only  caused  echoes  of 
Boftly-tuned  laughter,  for  the  slightest  word  of  those  lips 
it  was  the  fashion  through  Paris  just  then  to  bow  to, 
applaud,  and  re-echo. 

Before  her  Psyche,  shrouded  in  cobweb  lace,  powdered 
by  Martini,  gleaming  with  pearls  and  emeralds,  scented 
with  most  delicate  amber,  making  her  morning  toilette, 
and  receiving  her  morning  levee  according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  sat  the  brilliant  satirist  of  poor  Favart.  The 
ruelle  was  crowded;  three  marshals,  De  Richelieu,  Low- 
endal,  and  Maurice  de  Saxe;  a  prince,  De  Soubise;  a 
poet,  Claude  Dorat ;  an  abbe,  Voisenon  ;  a  centenarian, 
Saint-Aulaire ;  peers  uncounted,  De  Bi^vre,  De  Caylus, 
De  Villars,  D'Etissac,  Duras,  D'Argenson  —  a  crowd  of 
others  —  surrounded  and  superintended  her  toilette,  in  a 
glittering  troop  of  courtiers  and  gentlemen.  Dames 
d'atours  (for  she  had  her  maids  of  honor  as  well  as  Marie 
Leczinska)  handed  her  her  flacons  of  perfume,  or  her 
numberless  notes,  on  gold  salvers,  chased  by  Reveil ;  the 
ermine  beneath  her  feet,  humbly  sent  by  the  Russian 
ambassador  —  far  superior  to  what  the  Czarina  sent  to 
Madame  de  Mailly  —  had  cost  two  thousand  louis ;  her 


A    STUDf    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  219 

bedroom  outshone  in  luxury  any  at  Versailles,  Choisy,  or 
La  Muette,  with  its  Venetian  glass,  its  medallions  of 
Fragonard,  its  plaques  of  Sevres,  its  landscapes  of  Wat- 
teau,  framed  in  the  carved  and  gilded  wainscoting,  its 
Chinese  lamps,  swinging  by  garlands  of  roses,  its  laugh- 
ing Cupids,  buried  under  flowers,  painted  in  fresco  above 
the  alcove,  its  hangings  of  velvet,  of  silk,  of  lace ;  and 
its  cabinets,  its  screens,  its  bonbonnieres,  its  jewel-boxes, 
were  costly  as  those  of  the  Marquises  de  Pompadour  or 
De  Prie. 

Who  was  she?  —  a  Princess  of  the  Blood,  a  Duchess 
of  France,  a  mistress  of  the  King  ? 

Lords  of  the  chamber  obeyed  her  wishes,  ministers 
signed  lettres  de  cachet  at  her  instance ;  "  ces  messieurs," 
la  Queue  de  la  Regence,  had  their  rendezvous  at  her  sup- 
pers ;  she  had  a  country  villa  that  eclipsed  Trianon ;  she 
had  fetes  that  outshone  the  fetes  at  Versailles ;  she  had  a 
"  droit  de  ehasse  "  in  one  of  the  royal  districts  ;  she  had 
the  first  place  on  tlie  easels  of  Coypel,  Lancret,  Pater, 
Vanloo,  La  Tour  ;  the  first  place  in  the  butterfly  odes  of 
Crebillou  le  Gai,  Claude  Dorat ;  Voisenon, 

Who  was  she?  —  the  Queen  of  France?  No;  much 
more  —  the  Queen  of  Paris  ! 

She  was  Tharg^lie  Dum.arsais ;  matchless  as  Claire 
Clairon,  beautiful  as  Madeleine  Gaussin,  resistless  as 
Sophie  Arnould,  great  as  Adrienne  Lecouvi'eur.  She 
was  a  Power  in  France  —  for  was  she  not  the  Empress 
of  the  Comedie  ?  If  Madame  Lenormand  d'Etioles  ruled 
the  government  at  Versailles,  Mademoiselle  Thargclie 
Dumarsais  ruled  the  world  at  Paris ;  and  if  the  King's 
favorite  could  sign  her  enemies,  by  a  smile,  to  the  Bas- 
tille, the  Court's  favorite  could  sign  hers,  by  a  frown,  to 
For-l'Eveque. 

The  foye'>'  was  nightly  filled  while  she  played  in  Zaire, 
or  Poiyeucte,  or  Les  Folies  Amoureuses,  with  a  court  of 
princes  and  poets,  marshals  and  marquises,  beaux  esprits 


220  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

and  abbes  galants ;  and  mighty  nobles  strewed  with  bou- 
quets the  path  from  her  carriage  to  the  coulisses  ;  bouquets 
she  trod  on  with  nonchalant  dignity,  as  though  flowers 
only  bloomed  to  have  the  honor  of  dying  under  her  foot. 
Louis  Quinze  smilingly  humored  her  caprices,  content 
to  wait  until  it  was  her  pleasure  to  play  at  his  private 
theatre ;  dukes,  marquises,  viscounts,  chevaliers,  vied  who 
should  ruin  himself  most  magnificently  and  most  utterly 
for  her ;  and  lovers  the  most  brilliant  and  the  most  flat- 
tering, from  Richelieu,  Roi  de  Ruelles,  to  Dorat,  poet  of 
boudoir-graces  and  court-Sapphos,  left  the  titled  beauties 
of  Versailles  for  the  self-crowned  Empress  of  the  Fran- 
9ais.  She  had  all  Paris  for  her  chentela,  from  Versailles 
to  the  Caveau ;  for  even  the  women  she  deposed,  the 
actors  she  braved,  the  journalists  she  consigned  to  For- 
I'Eveque,  dared  not  raise  their  voice  against  the  idol  of 
the  hour.  A  Queen  of  France  ?  Bah  !  Pray  what  could 
Marie  Leczinska,  the  pale,  dull  pietist,  singing  canticles 
in  her  private  chapel,  compare  for  power,  for  sway,  for 
courtiers,  for  brilliant  sovereignty,  for  unrivalled  triumph, 
with  Thargelie  Dumarsais,  the  Queen  of  the  Theatre? 

Ravishingly  beautiful  looked  the  matchless  actress  as 
she  sat  before  her  Psyche,  flashing  oeillades  on  the  bril- 
liant group  who  made  every  added  aigrette,  every  addi- 
tional bouquet  of  the  coifiure,  every  little  mouche,  every 
touch  to  the  already  perfect  toilette,  occasion  for  flattering 
simile  and  soft-breathed  compliment ;  ravishingly  beau- 
tiful, as  she  laughed  at  Maurice  de  Saxe,  or  made  a  dis- 
dainful moue  at  an  impromptu  couplet  of  Dorat's,  or  gave 
a  blow  of  her  fan  to  Richelieu,  or  asked  Saint-Aulaire 
what  he  thought  of  Vanloo's  portrait  of  her  as  Rodugune; 
ravishingly  beautiful,  with  her  charms  that  disdained 
alike  rouge  and  marechale  powder,  and  were  matchless 
by  force  of  their  own  coloring,  form,  and  voluptuous  lan- 
guor, when,  her  toilette  finished,  followed  by  her  glitter- 
ing crowd,  she  let  Richelieu  lead  her  to  his  carriage. 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUiS    QUINZE.  221 

There  was  a  review  of  Guards  on  the  pLain  at  Sablona 
that  morning,  a  fete  afterwards,  at  which  she  would  be 
surrounded  by  the  most  brilliant  staff  of  an  army  of  No- 
blesse, and  Richelieu  was  at  that  moment  the  most  favored 
of  her  troop  of  lovers.  M.  le  Due,  as  every  one  knows, 
never  sued  at  court  or  coulisse  in  vain,  and  the  love  of 
Thargelie  Dumarsais,  though  perhaj)s  with  a  stronger 
touch  of  romance  in  it  than  was  often  found  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  foyer,  was,  like  the  love  of  her  time  and  her 
class,  as  inconstant  and  vivacious,  now  settling  here,  now- 
lighting  there,  as  any  butterfly  that  fluttered  among  the 
limes  at  Trianon.  Did  not  the  jest-loving  jmrterre  ever 
salute  with  gay  laughter  two  lines  in  a  bagatelle-comedy 
of  the  hour  — 

Oui  I'lVmour  pupillonne,  sans  entraves,  a  son  grd  ; 
Cliarg6  lougtemps  de  fers,  de  soie  meme,  il  mourrait!  — 

when  spoken  by  Thargelie  Dumarsais  —  laughter  that 
hailed  her  as  head-priestess  of  her  pleasant  creed,  in  a 
city  and  a  century  where  the  creed  was  universal? 

"Ah,  bonjour!  You  have  not  seen  her  before,  have 
you,  semi-Englishman?  You  have  found  nothing  like 
her  in  the  foggy  isles,  I  wager  you  fifty  louis !"  cried  one 
of  Thargelie  Dumarsais's  court,  the  Marquis  de  la  Thoril- 
liere,  meeting  a  friend  of  his  who  had  arrived  in  Paris 
only  the  day  before,  M.  le  Chevalier  de  Tallemont  des 
Reaux,  as  Richelieu's  cortege  rolled  away,  and  the  Mar- 
quis crossed  to  his  own  carriage. 

"Her?  Whom?  I  have  not  been  in  Paris  for  six 
years,  you  know.  What  can  I  tell  of  its  idols,  as  I 
remember  of  old  that  they  change  every  hour?" 

"True!  but,  bon  Dieu !  not  to  know  la  Dumarsais! 
What  it  must  be  to  have  been  buried  in  those  benighted 
Britannic  Isles!  Did  you  not  see  her  in  Richelieu's 
carriage  ?  " 


222         A  STUDY  A  LA  LOUIS  QUINZE. 

"No.  I  saw  a  carriage  driving  off  with  such  an  escort 
and  such  fracas,  that  I  thought  it  could  belong  to  nobody 
less  than  to  Madame  Lenormand  d'  Etioles ;  but  I  did  not 
observe  it  any  further.  Who  is  this  beauty  I  ought  to 
have  seen?" 

"  Thargelie  Dumarsais,  for  whom  Ave  are  all  ruining 
ourselves  with  the  prettiest  grace  in  the  world,  and  for 
whom  you  will  do  the  same  when  you  have  been  once  to 
the  Fran9ais ;  that  is,  if  you  have  the  good  fortune  to 
attract  her  eyes  and  please  her  fancy,  which  you  may  do, 
for  the  fogs  have  agreed  with  you,  Leon!  —  I  should  not 
wonder  if  you  become  the  fashion,  and  set  the  Avomen 
raving  of  you  as  *  leur  zer  zevalier ! '  " 

"  Thanks  for  the  prophecy,  but  I  shall  not  stay  long 
enough  to  fulfil  it,  and  steal  your  myrtle  croAvns.  I  leave 
again  to-morrow." 

"  Leave  ?  Sapristi !  See  what  it  is  to  have  become 
half  English,  and  imbibed  a  taste  for  spleen  and  solitude ! 
Have  you  written  another  satire,  or  have  you  learned  such 
barbarism  as  to  dislike  Paris  ?  " 

"  Neither ;  but  I  leave  for  Lorraine  to-morrow.  It  is 
five  years  since  I  saw  my  old  pine-woods." 

"  Dame !  it  is  ten  years  since  I  saw  the  Avilds  of  Bre- 
tagne,  and  I  will  take  good  care  it  shall  be  a  hundred 
before  I  see  them  again.  Hors  de  Paris,  c'est  hors  du 
vionde.  Come  with  me  to  La  Dumarsais's  petit  souper  to- 
night, and  you  will  soon  change  your  mind." 

"  My  good  Armand,  you  have  not  been  an  exile,  as  I 
have ;  you  little  know  how  I  long  for  the  very  scent  of 
the  leaves,  the  very  smell  of  the  earth  at  Grande  Char- 
niille !  But  bah !  I  talk  in  Hebrew  to  you.  You  have 
been  lounging  away  your  days  in  titled  beauties,  petita 
salons,  making  butterfly  verses,  learning  their  broidery, 
their  lisp,  and  their  perfumes,  talking  to  their  parrots, 
and  using  their  cosmetiqucs,  till  you  care  for  no  air  but 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  223 

what  is  musk-scented !     But  what  of  this  Dumarsais  of 
yours — does  she  equal  Lecouvreur?" 

"Eclipses  her! — with  Paris  as  with  Maurice  de  Saxe. 
Thargelie  Dumarsais  is  superb,  mon  cher — unequalled, 
unrivalled !  We  have  had  nothing  like  her  for  beauty, 
for  grace,  for  talent,  nor,  pardieu !  for  extravagance ! 
She  ruined  me  last  year  in  a  couple  of  months.  Richelieu 
is  in  favor  just  now — with  what  woman  is  he  not? 
Thargelie  is  very  fond  of  the  Marshals  of  France !  Saxe 
is  fettered  to  her  hand  and  foot,  and  the  Duchesse  de 
Bouillon  hates  her  as  rancorously  as  she  does  Adrienne. 
Come  and  see  her  play  Fhedre  to-night,  and  you  will  re- 
nounce Lorraine.  I  will  take  you  to  supper  with  her 
afterwards  ;  she  will  permit  any  friend  of  mine  entry,  and 
then,  generous  man  that  I  am,  I  shall  have  put  you  en 
chemin  to  sun  yourself  in  her  smiles  and  ingratiate  your- 
self in  her  favor.  Don't  give  me  too  much  credit  for  the 
virtue  though,  for  I  confess  I  should  like  to  see  Richelieu 
supplanted." 

"  Does  his  reign  threaten  to  last  long,  then  ?  " 
The  Marquis  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and   gave   his 
badine  an  expressive  whisk. 

"  Dieu  sait !  we  are  not  prophets  in  Paris.  It  would  be 
as  easy  to  say  where  that  weathercock  may  have  veered 
to-morrow,  as  to  predict  where  la  Dumarsais's  love  may 
have  lighted  ere  a  month !  Where  are  you  going,  may 
I  ask?" 

"  To  see  Lucille  de  Verdreuil.  I  knew  her  at  Lune- 
ville ;  she  and  Madame  de  Boufflers  were  warm  frieud& 
till  Stanislaus,  I  believe,  found  Lucille's  eyes  lovelier 
than  Madame  la  Marquise  deemed  fit,  and  then  they 
quarrelled,  as  women  ever  do,  with  virulence  in  exact 
proportion  to  the  ardor  of  their  friendship." 

"As  the  women  quarrel  at  Choisy  for  notre  maltre  ! 
They  will  be  friends  again  when  both  have  lost  the  game, 
like  .Tiouisc  de  Mailly  and  the  Duchcsse  de  CluUeauroux. 


224  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

The  poor  Duchess !  Fitz-James  and  Maurepas,  Chtltillon 
and  Bouillon,  Rochefoucauld  and  le  Pere  Pcrussot,  all 
together,  were  too  strong  for  her.  All  the  gossip  of  that 
Metz  affair  reached  you  across  the  water,  I  suppose? 
Those  pests  of  Jesuits  !  if  they  want  him  to  be  their  Very 
Christian  King,  and  to  cure  him  of  his  worship  of  Cu- 
pidon,  they  will  have  to  pull  doAvn  all  the  stones  of  La 
Muette  and  the  Pare  aux  Cerfs !  What  good  is  it  to  kill 
one  poor  woman  when  women  are  as  plentiful  as  roses  at 
Versailles  ?  And  now  let  me  drive  you  to  Madame  de 
Vaudreuil ;  if  she  do  not  convert  you  from  your  fancy 
for  Lorraine  this  morning,  Thargelie  Dumarsais  will 
to-night." 

"  Mon  zer  zevalier,  Paris  est  ado'able  !  Voiis  n'etes  pas 
sc'ieux  en  voulant  le  quitter,  z'en  suis  sure ! "  cried  the 
Comtesse  de  Vaudreuil,  in  the  pretty  lisp  of  the  day,  a 
charming  little  blonde,  patched  and  powdered,  nestled  in 
a  chair  before  a  fire  of  perfumed  wood,  teasing  her  mon- 
key Zulme  with  a  fan  of  Pater's,  and  giving  a  pretty 
little  sign  of  contempt  and  disbelief  with  some  sprays  of 
jessamine  employed  in  the  chastisement  of  offenders  more 
responsible  and  quite  as  audacious  as  Zulme. 

Her  companion,  her  "  zer  zevalier,"  was  a  young  man 
of  seven-and-twent}'^,  with  a  countenance  frank,  engaging, 
nobly  cast,  far  more  serious,  far  more  thoughtful  in  its 
expression,  than  was  often  seen  in  that  laughing  and 
mocking  age.  Exiled  when  a  mere  boy  for  a  satirical 
pamphlet  which  had  provoked  the  wrath  of  the  Censeur 
Royal,  and  might  have  cost  him  the  Bastille  but  for  in- 
tercession from  Luneville,  he  had  passed  his  youth  less  in 
pleasure  than  in  those  ])hilosophical  and  political  prob- 
lems then  beginning  to  agitate  a  few  minds ;  which  were 
developed  later  on  in  the  "  Encyclopedic,"  later  still  in 
the  Assemblee  Nationale.  Voltaire  and  Helvetius  had 
spoken  well  of  him  at  Madame  de  Geoffrin's ;  Claudine 
de  Tenciu  had  introduced  him  the  night  before  in  her 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  225 

brilliaiu  salons ;  the  veteran  Fontenelle  had  said  to  him, 
"Monsieur,  comme  cejiseur  royal  je  refusal  vion  approba- 
tion  a  voire  brochure ;  comme  homme  libre  je  vous  en  Jell- 
cite"  —  all  that  circle  was  prepared  to  receive  him  well, 
the  young  Chevalier  de  Tallemont  might  make  a  felicitous 
season  in  Paris  if  he  chose,  with  the  romance  of  his  exile 
about  him,  and  Madame  de  Vaudreuil  smiling  kindly  on 
him. 

"The  country!"  she  cried;  "the  country  is  all  very 
charming  in  eclogues  and  pastorals,  but  out  of  them  it  is 
a  desert  of  ennui !  What  can  you  mean,  Leon,  by  leav- 
ing Paris  to-morrow  ?  Ah,  mechant,  there  must  be  some- 
thing we  do  not  see,  some  love  besides  that  of  the  Lor- 
raine woods ! " 

"Madame,  is  there  not  my  father?" 

"  Bien  zoll !  But  at  your  age  men  are  not  so  filial. 
There  is  some  other  reason  —  but  what  ?  Any  love  you 
had  there  five  years  ago  has  hardly  any  attractions  now. 
Five  years  !  Ma  foi,  five  months  is  an  eternity  that  kills 
the  warmest  passion  ! " 

"  May  there  not  be  some  love,  madame,  that  time  only 
strengthens?" 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  if  there  be.  It  would  be  a  very 
dreary  affair,  I  should  fancy,  smouldering,  smouldering 
on  and  on  like  an  ill-lit  fire.  Nobody  would  thank  you 
for  it,  mon  cher,  Atfre ,'  Come,  what  is  your  secret?  Tell 
it  me." 

Leon  de  Tallemont  smiled ;  the  smile  of  a  man  who 
has  happy  thoughts,  and  is  indifferent  to  ridicule. 

"  Madame,  one  can  refuse  you  nothing!  My  secret? 
It  is  a  very  simjde  one.  The  greatest  pang  of  my  t^n- 
forced  exile  was  the  parting  from  one  I  loved ;  the  great- 
est joy  of  my  return  is  that  I  return  to  her." 

"BonDieu!  comme  c' est  drole  !  Here  is  a  man  talking 
to  me  of  love,  and  of  a  love  not  felt  for  me!"  thought 
Madame  la  Comtesse,  giving   him  a  soft  glance  of  her 

P 


226  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS  QUINZE. 

beautiful  blue  eyes.  "  You  are  a  very  strange  man.  You 
have  lived  out  of  France  till  you  have  grown  wretchedly 
serious  and  eccentric.  Loved  this  woman  for  five  years  ? 
Leon !  Leon !  you  are  telling  me  a  fairy  tale.  Who  is 
she,  this  enchantress  ?  She  must  have  some  mysterious 
magic.     Tell  me — quick ! " 

"  She  is  no  enchantress,  madame,  and  she  has  no  magic 
save  the  simple  one  of  having  ever  been  very  dear  to  me. 
We  grew  up  together  at  Grande  Charmille ;  she  was  the 
orphan  niece  of  the  Priest,  a  fond,  innocent,  laughing 
child,  fresh  and  fair,  and  as  untouched  by  a  breath  of 
impure  air  as  any  of  the  violets  in  the  valley.  She  was 
scarcely  out  of  the  years  of  childhood  when  I  left  her, 
with  beauty  whose  sweetest  grace  of  all  was  its  own  un- 
consciousness. Through  my  five  long  years  of  exile  I 
have  remembered  Favette  as  I  saw  her  last  under  the 
elm-boughs  in  the  summer  light,  her  eyes  dim  with  the 
tears  of  our  parting,  her  young  heart  heaving  with  its 
first  grief.  I  have  loved  her  too  well  for  others  to  have 
j)ower  to  eflface  or  to  supplant  her ;  of  her  only  have  I 
thought,  of  her  only  have  I  dreamed,  holding  her  but  the 
dearer  as  the  years  grew  further  from  the  hour  of  our 
separation,  nearer  to  the  hour  of  our  reunion.  I  have 
heard  no  word  of  her  since  we  parted  ;  but  of  what  value 
is  love  without  trust  and  fidelity  in  trial  ?  The  beauty 
of  her  childhood  may  have  merged  into  the  beauty  of 
"womanhood,  but  I  fear  no  other  change  in  Favette.  As 
we  parted  so  we  vowed  to  meet,  and  I  believe  in  her  love 
as  in  my  own.  I  know  that  I  shall  find  my  Lorraine 
violet  without  stain  or  soil.  Madame,  Favette  is  still 
dearer  to  me  now,  Heaven  help  me,  than  five  years  ago. 
Five  years — five  years — true!  it  is  an  eternity!  Yet 
the  bitterness  of  the  past  has  faded  for  ever  from  me  7iow, 
and  I  only  see — the  future!" 

Madame  de  Vaudreuil  listened  in  silence ;  his  words 
Btirred  in  her  chords  long  untouched,  never  heard  amidst 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  227 

the  mots,  the  madrigals,  the  laughter  of  her  world  of 
Paris,  Versailles,  and  Choisy.  She  struck  him  u  little 
blow  with  her  jessamine-sprays,  with  a  mist  gathering 
over  her  lovely  blue  eyes. 

"Hush,  hush,  Leon!  you  speak  in  a  tongue  unknowu 
here.  A  word  of  the  heart  amongst  us  sounds  a  word  of 
a  Gaulois  out  of  fashion — forbidden!" 


III. 

MIDNIGHT. 

The  Fran9ai3  was  crowded.  Tharg^lie  Dumarsais, 
great  in  Electre,  Chimdne,  Ines,  as  in  "  Ninette  d  la  Cour," 
"  Les  Moissoymeurs,"  or  "Annette  et  Ltibin,"  was  playing 
in  "  Fhedre."  Louis  Quinze  was  present,  with  all  the 
powdered  marquises,  the  titled  wits,  the  glittering  gentle- 
men of  the  Court  of  Versailles ;  but  no  presence  stayed 
the  shout  of  adoration  with  which  the  parterre  welcomed 
the  idol  of  the  hour,  and  Louis  le  Bien-aime  (des  femmes!) 
himself  added  his  royal  quota  to  the  ovation,  and  threw 
at  her  feet  a  diamond,  superb  as  any  in  his  regalia.  It 
was  whispered  that  the  Most  Christian  King  was  grow- 
ing envious  of  his  favorite's  favor  with  la  Dumarsais,  and 
would,  ere  long,  supersede  him. 

The  foyer  was  filled  with  princes  of  the  blood,  mar- 
shals of  France,  dukes,  marquises,  the  elite  of  her  troop 
of  lovers ;  lords  and  gentlemen  crowded  the  passages, 
flinging  their  bouquets  for  her  carpet  as  she  passed  ;  and 
poor  scholars,  young  poets,  youths  without  a  sou — amongst 
them  Diderot,  Gilbert,  Jean- Jacques  Rousseau  —  pressed 
forward  to  catch  a  glimpse,  by  the  light  of  the  links,  of 
this  beauty,  on  which  only  the  eyes  of  grands  seigneurs 
who  could  dress  Cupidon  in  a  court  habit  parfiie  d'or 
were  allowed  to  gaze  closely,  as  she  left  the  Francjais, 
after  her  unmatched  and  uninterrupted  triumphs,  and 


228  A     STUDY    n     LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

went  to  her  carriage  with  Richelieu,  The  suppers  of 
Thargelie  Duraarsais  were  renowned  through  Paris  ;  thoy 
equalled  in  magnificence  the  suppers  of  the  Regency, 
rivalled  them  for  license,  and  surpassed  them  for  wit- 
All  the  world  might  flock  to  her  fetes  where  she  undis- 
guisedly  sought  to  surpass  the  lavishness  of  Versailles, 
even  by  having  showers  of  silver  flung  from  her  windows 
to  the  people  in  the  streets  below  ;  but  to  her  soupers  ct 
huis  clos  only  a  chosen  few  were  admitted,  and  men  would 
speak  of  having  supped  with  la  Dumarsais  as  boastfully 
as  women  of  having  supped  with  the  King  at  Choisy. 

"  What  you  have  lost  in  not  seeing  her  play  Phedre  f 
Helvetius  would  have  excused  you  ;  all  the  talk  of  his 
salons  is  not  worth  one  glance  at  la  Dumarsais.  Mon 
ami !  you  will  be  converted  to  Paris  when  once  you  have 
seen  her,"  said  the  Marquis  de  la  Thorilliere,  as  his  car- 
riage stopped  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin. 

Leon  de  Tallemont  laughed,  and  thought  of  the  eyes 
that  would  brighten  at  his  glance,  and  the  heart  that 
would  beat  against  his  own  once  more  under  the  vine 
shadows  of  Lorraine.  No  new  magic,  however  seductive, 
should  have  strength  to  shake  his  allegiance  to  that  Mem- 
ory .  and,  true  to  his  violet  in  Lorraine,  he  defied  the 
Queen  of  the  Foyer. 

"  We  are  late,  but  that  is  always  a  more  pardonable 
fault  than  to  be  too  early,"  said  the  Marquis,  as  they  were 
ushered  across  the  vestibule,  through  several  salons,  into 
the  supper-room,  hung  with  rich  tapestries  of  "  Les 
Nymphes  au  Bain,"  "Diane  Chasseresse,"  and  "Apollon 
et  Daphne ; "  with  gilded  consoles,  and  rosewood  buffets, 
enamelled  with  medallion  groups,  and  crowded  with 
Sevres  and  porcelaine  de  Saxe,  while  Venetian  mirrors  at 
each  end  of  the  salle  reflected  the  table,  Avith  its  wines, 
and  fruits,  and  flowers,  its  gold  dishes  and  Bohemian 
glass.  The  air  was  heavily  perfumed,  and  vibrating  with 
laughter.      The   guests   were    Richelieu,   Bievre,   Saxe, 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  229 

D'Etissac,  Montcrif,  and  lovely  Marie  Camargo,  tlit 
queen  of  the  coulisses  who  introduced  the  "  short  skirts  " 
of  the  ballet,  and  upheld  her  innovation  so  stanchly 
amidst  the  outcries  of  scandalized  Jansenists  and  journal- 
ists. But  even  Marie  Camargo  herself  paled  —  and  would 
have  paled  even  had  she  been,  what  she  was  not,  in  the 
first  flush  of  her  youth — before  the  superb  beauty,  the 
languid  voluptuousness,  the  sensuous  grace,  the  southern 
eyes,  the  full  lips,  like  the  open  leaves  of  a  damask  rose, 
melting  yet  mocking,  of  the  most  beautiful  and  most 
notorious  woman  of  a  day  in  which  beauty  and  notoriety 
were  rife,  the  woman  with  the  diamond  of  Louis  Quinze 
sparkling  in  the  light  upon  her  bosom,  whom  Versaill'^3 
and  Paris  hailed  as  Thargelie  Dumarsais. 

The  air,  scented  with  amber,  rang  with  the  gay  echoes 
of  a  stanza  of  Dorat's,  chanted  by  Marie  Camargo ;  the 
"  Cupids  and  Bacchantes,"  painted  in  the  panels  of  Sevres, 
seemed  to  laugh  in  sympathy  with  the  revel  over  which 
they  presided  ;  the  light  flashed  on  the  King's  diamond, 
to  which  Richelieu  pointed,  with  a  wicked  whisper ;  for 
the  Marshal  was  getting  tired  of  his  own  reign,  and  his 
master  might  pay  his  court  when  he  would.  Thargelie 
Dumarsais,  more  beautiful  still  at  her  petit  souper  than 
at  her  j)Gtit  lever,  with  her  hair  crowned  with  roses,  true 
flowers  of  Venus  that  might  have  crowned  Aspasia, 
looked  up  laughingly  as  her  lacqueys  ushered  in  le  Mar- 
quis de  la  Thorilliere  and  le  Chevalier  de  Tallemont. 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  cried  the  actress,  "  you  are  late !  It 
is  an  impertinence  forbidden  at  my  court.  I  shall  sup  in 
future  with  barred  doors,  like  M.  d'Orleans ;  then  all  you 
late-comers " 

Through  the  scented  air,  through  the  echoing  laughter, 
stopping  her  own  words,  broke  a  startled  bitter  cry : 

"  Man  Dlcu,  c'est  Favette  !  " 

Thargelie  Dumarsais  shrank  back  in  her  rose  velvet 
fauteuil  as  thougii  the  blow  of  a  dagger  had  struck  her ; 
20 


*430  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

the  color  fled  from  her  lips,  and  underneath  the  delicate 
rouge  on  her  cheeks ;  her  hand  trembled  as  it  grasped  the 
King's  aigrette. 

"  Favette — Fa vette !     Who  calls  me  that  ? " 

It  was  a  forgotten  name,  the  name  of  a  bygone  life 
that  fell  on  her  ear  with  a  strange  familiar  chime,  break 
ing  in  on  the  wit,  the  license,  the  laughter  of  her  mid- 
night supper,  as  the  subdued  and  mournful  sound  of  ves- 
per bells  might  fall  upon  the  wild  refrains  and  noisy 
drinking-songs  of  bacchanalian  melody. 

A  surprised  silence  fell  upon  the  group,  the  laughter 
hushed,  the  voices  stopped ;  it  was  a  strange  interruption 
for  a  midnight  supper.  Thargelie  Dumarsais  involun- 
tarily rose,  her  lips  white,  her  eyes  fixed,  her  hand  clasped 
convulsively  on  the  King's  diamond.  A  vague,  speech- 
less terror  held  mastery  over  her,  an  awe  she  could  not 
shake  off  had  fiistened  upon  her,  as  though  the  dead  had 
risen  irom  their  graves,  and  come  thither  to  rebuke  her 
for  the  past  forgotten,  the  innocence  lost.  The  roses  in 
her  hair,  the  flowers  of  revel,  touched  a  cheek  blanched 
as  though  she  beheld  some  unearthly  thing,  and  the  hand 
that  lay  on  the  royal  jewel  shook  and  trembled. 

"Favette?  Favette?"  she  echoed  again.  "It  is  so 
many  years  since  I  heard  that  name !  " 

Her  guests  sat  silent  still,  comprehending  nothing  of 
this  single  name  which  had  such  power  to  move  and 
startle  her.  Richelieu  alone,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
leisurely  picked  out  one  of  his  brandy-cherries,  and  waited 
as  a  man  waits  for  the  next  scene  at  a  theatre : 

"  Is  it  an  unexpected  tragedy,  or  an  arranged  comedy, 
ma  chere?  Ought  one  to  cry  or  to  laugh?  Give  me  the 
mot  d'ordre  !  " 

His  words  broke  the  spell,  and  called  Thargelie  Dumar- 
sais back  to  the  world  about  her.  Actress  by  profession 
and  by  nature,  she  rallied  with  a  laugh,  putting  out  her 
jewelled  hand  with  a  languid  glance  from  her  long 
alniond-sluiped  eyes. 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  231 

"  A  friend  of  early  years,  my  dear  Due,  that  is  all. 
A-li,  Monsieur  de  Tallemont.  what  a  strange  rencontre ! 
When  did  you  come  to  Paris  ?  I  scarcely  knew  you  at 
the  first  moment ;  you  have  so  long  been  an  exile,  one 
may  pardonably  be  startled  by  your  apparition,  and  take 
you  for  a  ghost !  I  suppose  you  never  dreamed  of  meet- 
ing Favette  Fontanie  under  my  novi  de  theatre  f  Ah ! 
how  we  change,  do  we  not,  Leon  ?  Time  is  so  short,  we 
have  no  time  to  stand  still !  Marie,  ma  chere,  give  Mon- 
sieur le  Chevalier  a  seat  beside  you  —  he  cannot  be  hap- 
pier placed ! " 

Leon  de  Tallemont  heard  not  a  word  that  she  spoke ; 
he  stood  like  a  man  stunned  and  paralyzed  by  a  sudden 
and  violent  blow,  his  head  bowed,  a  mortal  pallor  chang- 
ing his  face  to  the  hues  of  death,  the  features  that  were  a 
moment  before  bright,  laughing,  and  careless,  now  set  in 
mute  and  rigid  anguish. 

"  Favette !  Favette !  "  he  murmured,  hoarsely,  in  the 
vague  dreamy  agony  with  which  a  man  calls  wildly  and 
futilely  on  the  beloved  dead  to  come  back  to  him  from 
the  silence  and  horror  of  the  grave. 

"  Peste ! "  laughed  Kichelieu.  "  This  cast-off  lover 
seems  a  strange  fellow  !  Does  he  not  know  that  absent 
people  have  never  the  presumption  to  dream  of  keeping 
their  places,  but  learn  to  give  them  graciously  up! — • 
shall  I  teach  him  the  lesson  ?  If  he  have  his  sixteen 
quarterings,  a  prick  of  my  sword  will  soon  punish  his 
impudence ! " 

The  jeer  fell  unheeded  on  L(Jon  de  Tallemont's  ear ; 
had  he  heard  it,  the  fiipiiant  sneer  would  have  had  no 
power  to  sting  him  then.  Regardless  of  the  men  around 
the  supper-table,  he  grasped  Thargelie  Dumarsais's  hands 
in  his : 

"This  is  how  we  meet!" 

She  shrank  away  from  his  glance,  terrified,  she  scarce 
knew  why,  at  the  mute  anguish  upon  his  face. 


232  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

Perhaps  for  a  moment  she  realized  how  utterly  she  had 
abused  the  love  and  wrecked  the  life  of  this  man ;  per- 
haps with  his  voice  came  back  to  her  thronging  thoughts 
of  guileless  days,  memories  ringing  through  the  haze  of 
years,  as  distant  chimes  ring  over  the  water  from  lands 
we  have  quitted,  reaching  us  when  we  have  floated  far 
away  out  to  sea  —  memories  of  an  innocent  and  untroubled 
life,  when  she  had  watched  the  woodland  flowers  open  to 
the  morning  sun,  and  listened  to  the  song  of  the  brooks 
murmuring  over  the  violet  roots,  and  heard  the  sweet 
evening  song  of  the  birds  rise  to  heaven  under  the  deep 
vine  shadows  of  Lorraine. 

One  moment  she  was  silent,  her  eyes  falling,  troubled 
and  guilty,  beneath  his  gaze ;  then  she  looked  up,  laugh- 
ing gayly,and  flashing  on  him  her  languid  lustrous  glance. 

"You  look  like  a  somnambulist, -rnon  ami!  Did  no- 
body ever  tell  you,  then,  how  Mme.  de  la  Vrilliere  carried 
me  off"  from  Lorraine,  and  brought  me  in  her  train  to 
Paris,  till,  when  Favette  Fontanie  was  tired  of  being  pet- 
ted like  the  spaniel,  the  monkey,  and  the  parrot,  she  broke 
away  from  Madame  la  Marquise,  and  made,  after  a  little 
probation  at  the  Foire  St.  Laurent,  her  appearance  at  the 
Frangais  as  Thargelie  Dumarsais?  Allons  done!  have  I 
lost  ray  beauty,  that  you  look  at  me  thus  ?  You  should 
be  reminding  me  of  the  proverb,  '  On  revient  toujours  d 
868  premiers  amours  !'  Surely,  Thargelie  Dumarsais  will 
be  as  attractive  to  teach  such  a  lesson  as  that  little  peasant 
girl,  Favette,  used  to  be  ?  Bah,  Leon  !  Can  I  not  love 
you  as  well  again  in  Paris  as  I  once  loved  you  at  Grande 
Charmille  ?     And  —  who  knows  ?  —  perhaps  I  will ! " 

She  leaned  towards  him  ;  her  breath  fanning  his  cheek, 
her  scented  hair  brushing  his  lips,  her  lustrous  eyes  meet- 
ing his  with  eloquent  meaning,  her  lips  parted  with  the 
resistless  witchery  of  that  melting  and  seductive  sourire 
d'amrmr  to  which  they  were  so  admirably  trained.  He 
gazed  down  on  her,  breathless,  silence-stricken — gazed 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE.  233 

down  on  the  sorceress  beauty  to  which  the  innocent  love- 
liness of  his  Lorraine  flower  had  changed.  Was  this 
woman,  with  tlie  rouge  uj)on  her  cheeks,  the  crimsoii  roses 
in  her  hair,  the  mocking  light  in  her  eyes,  the  wicked 
laugh  on  her  lips,  the  diamond  glittering  like  a  serpent's 
eye  in  her  bosom  —  was  she  the  guileless  child  he  had  left 
weeping,  on  the  broken  steps  of  the  fountain,  tears  as 
pure  as  the  dew  in  the  violet-bells,  with  the  summer  sun- 
light streaming  round  her,  and  no  shade  on  her  young 
brow  darker  than  the  fleeting  shadow  flung  from  above 
by  the  vine-leaves?   A  cry  broke  once  more  from  his  lips: 

"  Would  to  God  I  had  died  before  to-night ! " 

Then  he  lifted  his  head,  with  a  smile  upon  his  face — a 
smile  that  touched  and  vaguely  terrified  all  those  who 
saw  it — the  smile  of  a  breaking  heart. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  proffered  embraces,  but  /  am 
faithful.  I  love  but  one,  and  I  have  lost  her ;  Favette  ig 
dead !  I  know  nothing  of  Thargelie  Dumarsais,  the 
dourtesan." 

He  bowed  low  to  her  and  left  her  —  never  to  see  her 
face  again. 

A  silence  fell  on  those  he  had  quitted,  even  upon 
Richelieu  ;  perhaps  even  he  realized  that  all  beauty,  faith, 
and  joy  were  stricken  from  this  man's  life ;  and  —  reality 
of  feeling  was  an  exile  so  universally  banished  from  the 
gay  salons  of  the  Dix-huitieme  Siecle,  that  its  intrusion 
awed  them  as  by  the  unwonted  presence  of  some  ghostly 
visitant. 

Thargelie  Dumarsais  sat  silent  —  her  thoughts  had 
flown  away  once  more  from  her  brilliant  supper-chamber 
to  the  fountain  at  Grande  Charmille :  she  was  seeing  thr 
dragon-flies  flutter  among  the  elm-boughs,  and  the  water 
ripple  over  the  wild  thyme ;  she  was  feeling  the  old 
priest's  good-night  kiss  upon  her  brow,  and  her  own  hymn 
rise  and  mingle  with  the  chant  of  the  vesper  choir;  she 
was  hearing  the  song  of  the  forest-birds  echo  in  the  Lor- 
20^ 


234  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUINZE. 

rainc  woods,  and  a  fond  voice  whisper  to  her,  "  Fear  not, 
Favctte !  —  we  shall  meet  as  we  part ! " 

Richelieu  took  up  his  Dresden  saucer  of  cherries  once 
more  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"  Voilci  un  drole !  —  this  fellow  takes  things  seriously. 
What  fools  there  are  in  this  world !  It  will  be  a  charm- 
ing little  story  for  Versailles.  Dieu !  how  Louis  will 
laugh  when  I  tell  it  him !  I  fear  though,  ma  cherie, 
that  the  'friend  of  your  childhood'  will  make  you  lose 
your  reputation  by  his  impolite  epithets  !  " 

"When  one  has  nothing,  one  can  lose  nothing  —  eh, 
ma  chere  ?"  laughed  Marie  Camargo.  "  Monsieur  le  Due, 
she  does  not  hear  us " 

"No,  Z'tn^c^e/e.^"  cried  Richelieu.  "Mademoiselle!  1 
see  plainly  you  love  this  rude  lover  of  bygone  days  better 
than  you  do  us ! — is  it  not  the  truth  ?" 

"  Chut !  nobody  asks  for  truths  in  a  polite  age ! " 
laughed  Thargelie  Dumarsais,  shaking  ofl'  unwelcome 
memories  once  for  all,  and  looking  down  at  the  King's 
diamond  gleaming  in  the  light — the  diamond  that  pro- 
phesied to  her  the  triumph  of  the  King's  love. 

"  Naturally,"  added  La  Camargo.  "  My  friend,  I  shall 
die  with  envy  of  your  glorious  jewel.  Dieu .'  comme  il 
brille!" 


"DEADLY  DASH." 

A  STORY  TOLD  ON  THE  OFF  DAY. 

[N.  the  off-day  after  the  Derby  everybody,  exce])t 
the  great  winners,  is,  it  will  be  generally  ad- 
mitted, the  resigned  prey  to  a  certain  gentle 
sadness,  not  to  say  melancholy,  that  will  only  dissipate 
itself  under  a  prolonged  regimen  of  S.  and  B.,  seidlitz 
well  dashed  with  Amontillado,  or  certain  heavenly  West 
Indian  decoctions;  —  this  indisposition,  I  would  suggest, 
we  should  call,  delicately  and  dubiously,  Epsomitis.  It 
will  serve  to  describe  innumerable  forms  and  degrees  of 
the  reactionary  malady. 

There  is  the  severest  shape  of  all,  "  dead  money,"  that 
covers  four  figures,  dropped  irretrievably,  and  lost  to  the 
"  milkers  ; "  lost  always  you  say  because  of  a  cough,  or 
l)ecause  of  a  close  finish,  or  because  of  something  dark,  or 
because  of  a  strain  in  the  practising  gallops,  or  because 
of  a  couple  of  brutes  that  cannoned  just  at  the  start ;  and 
never,  of  course,  because  the  horse  you  had  fancied  was 
^5hoerly  and  simply  only  fit  for  a  plater.  There  is  the 
second  severe  form,  when  you  awake  with  a  cheerful  ex- 
pectation of  a  summons  for  driving  "  at  twelve  miles  an 
hour"  (as  if  that  wasn't  moderate  and  discreet!),  and  for 
thereby  smashing  a  greengrocer's  cart  into  the  middle  of 
next  week,  and  running  a  waggonette  into  an  omnibus, 
as  you  came  back  from  the  Downs,  of  which  you  have 
no  more  i  cmembrancc  than  that  there  was  a  crash,  and  a 

(2^5) 


236  DEADLY    DASn. 

smash,  and  a  woman's  screams,  and  a  man's  "  d-  '-n  the 
swells  !  "  and  a  tintamarre  of  roaring  conductor  and  bel- 
lowing greengrocer,  and  infuriated  females,  through  Avhich 
you  dashed  somehow  with  a  cheer  —  more  shame  for  you 
—  and  a  most  inappropriate  I'Africaine  chorus  from  the 
men  on  your  drag.  There  is  the  milder  form,  which  is 
only  the  rueful  recollection  of  seeing,  in  a  wild  ecstasy, 
the  chestnut  with  the  white  blaze  sweep  with  his  superb 
stride  to  the  front,  and  of  having,  in  your  moment  of 
rapturous  gratitude  to  the  red  and  blue,  rushed,  uninten- 
tionally, during  the  discussion  of  Fortnum  and  Mason's 
hamper,  into  a  promise  to  take  Euphrosyne  Brown  to 
Baden  in  August,  where  you  know  very  well  she  will  cost 
you  more  than  all  your  sums  netted  through  Gladiateur. 
There  are  the  slenderer  touches  of  the  malady,  which  give 
you,  over  your  breakfast  coffee,  a  certain  dolorous  medita- 
tion as  to  how  you  could  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to  have 
placed  all  your  trust  in  Danebury,  or  to  have  put  in  a 
hole  through  Spring  Cottage  just  what  your  yacht  costs 
for  three  months  ;  which  makes  you  wonder  why  on  earth 
you  took  that  lot  of  actresses  on  to  the  hill,  and  tlirew 
money  enough  away  on  them  in  those  wages  of  idiotcy 
(or  wages  of  sin,  as  your  uncle  the  dean  would  translate 
it),  of  cashmeres,  eau  de  Cologne,  gloves,  and  bracelets, 
to  have  purchased  those  two  weight-carriers  offered  you 
at  £600  the  pair,  and  dirt-cheap  at  that ;  or  which  makes 
you  only  dully  and  headachily  conscious  that  you  drank 
champagne  up  on  the  box-seat  as  if  you  were  a  young 
fellow  from  Eton,  and  now  pay  for  the  juvenile  folly,  aa 
you  know  you  deserve  to  do,  when  that  beautiful  white 
Burgundy  at  your  club,  or  your  own  cool  perfect  claret 
at  home,  seems  to  stare  you  in  the  face  and  ask,  "  Why 
did  you  crack  all  those  bottles  of  Dry  on  the  Downs?" 

There  are  sym])toms  and  varieties  innumerable  of  the 
malady  that  I  propose  shall  be  known  henceforward  as 
Epsomitis ;  therefore,  the  oli-day  finds  everybody  more  or 


DEADLY    DASH.  237 

less  slightly  done-up  and  mournful.  Twenty-four  hours 
and  the  Oaks,  if  properly  prepared  for  by  a  strictly 
medicinal  course  of  brules-gueides,  as  the  Chasseurs  say, 
smoked  perseveriugly,  will  bring  all  patients  round  on 
the  Friday ;  but  during  the  twenty -four  hours  a  sense 
that  all  on  and  off  the  course  is  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit  will  generally  and  somnolently  predominate  in  the 
universal  and  fashionable  disease  of  Epsomitis. 

One  off-day,  after  the  magnificent  victory  of  Monarque'a 
unrivalled  son,  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  suffering  con- 
siderably from  these  symptoms,  sought  my  philosophy  and 
my  prescriptions.  A  very  sharp  irritant  for  Epsomitis 
may  be  administered  in  the  form  of  "  I  told  you  so  ?  It 's 
all  your  own  fault!"  But  this  species  of  blister  and 
douche  bath  combined  is  rarely  given  unless  the  patient 
be  mad  enough  to  let  his  wife,  if  he  unluckily  have  one, 
learn  what  ails  him.  As  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  was 
much  too  sympathetic  with  the  sufferer  to  be  down  upon 
him  with  the  triumphant  reminder  that  I  had  cautioned 
him  all  along  not  to  place  his  trust  in  Russley.  I,  instead, 
prescribed  him  cool  wines,  and  led  him  on  to  talk  of  other 
people's  misfortunes,  the  very  best  way  to  get  reconciled 
with  your  own.  We  talked  of  old  times,  of  old  memories, 
of  old  acquaintance,  in  the  twilight,  between  Derby  and 
Oaks.  We  got  a  little  melancholy  ;  too  much  champagne 
is  always  productive  on  the  morrow  of  a  gently  sentimen- 
tal tinge,  and  a  man  is  always  inclined  to  look  on  the 
world  as  a  desert  when  he  has  the  conviction  that  he  him- 
self has  been  made  a  fool  in  it.  Among  other  names, 
that  of  Deadly  Dash  came  up  between  us.  What  had 
become  of  him?  I  did  not  know  ;  he  did.  He  told  me; 
and  I  will  tell  it  here,  for  the  story  is  of  the  past  now. 

"  Deadly  Dash  !  What  a  shot  he  was !  Never  missed," 
said  my  friend,  whose  own  gun  is  known  well  enough  at 
Hornsey-wood  House ;  therewith  falling  into  a  reverie, 
tinged  with  the  Jacques-like  gloom  of  Epsomitis  in  ita 


238  DEADLY    DASn. 

severest  form,  from  which  he  awoke  to  tell  me  slowly,  be- 
tween long  draughts  of  iced  drinks,  what  I  write  now.  I 
alter  his  tale  in  nothing,  save  in  filling  in  with  words  the 
gaps  and  blanks  that  he  made,  all-eloquent  in  his  halting 
oratory,  by  meditative,  plaintive,  moralizing  puffs  from 
his  tonic,  the  briile  gueule,  and  an  occasional  appeal  to 
my  imagination  in  the  customary  formula  of  "Oh, 
bother! — you  understand — all  the  rest  of  it  you  know," 
which,  though  it  tells  everything  over  claret,  is  not  so 
clear  a  mode  of  relation  in  type.  For  all  else  here  the 
story  is  as  he  gave  it  to  me. 

"  Deadly  Dash  ! "  It  was  a  fatal  sounding  sobriquet, 
and  had  a  fatal  fascination  for  many,  for  me  as  well  as 
the  rest,  when  I  was  in  my  salad  days  and  joined  the  old 
• — th,  amongst  whose  Light  Dragoons,  it  was  so  signally 
and  ominously  famous.  The  nickname  had  a  wide  sig- 
nificance ;  "  Jie  always  kills,"  was  said  with  twofold  truth, 
in  twofold  meaning  of  Dash  ;  in  a  barriere  duel  he  would 
wheel  lightly,  aim  carelessly,  and  send  the  ball  straight 
as  any  arrow  through  heart  or  lung,  just  as  he  fancied,  in 
the  neatest  style  anybody  could  dream  of;  and  in  an  in- 
trigue he  took  just  the  same  measures,  and  hit  as  invaria- 
bly with  the  self-same  skill  and  the  self-same  indifference. 
"  He  always  kills  "  applied  equally  to  either  kind  of  affaii', 
and  got  him  his  sobriquet,  which  he  received  with  as 
laughing  an  equanimity  as  a  riding  man  gets  the  Gilt 
Vase,  or  a  "  lover  of  the  leash  "  the  Ravensworth  Stakes, 
or  the  Puppy  Cup  and  Goblet.  He  was  proud  of  it,  and 
had  only  one  regret,  that  he  lived  in  the  dead  days  of  the 
duel,  and  could  only  go  out  when  he  was  on  French  soil. 
In  dare-devilry  of  every  sort  he  out-Heroded  Herod,  and 
distanced  any  who  were  mad  enough  to  try  the  pace  with 
him  in  that  steeple-chase  commonly  called  "  going  to  the 
bad."  It  was  a  miracle  how  often  he  used  to  reach  the 
Btage  of  "  complete  ruin  "  that  the  Prince  de  Soubise  once 


DEADLY    DASn.  239 

sighed  for  as  an  unattainable  paradise  ;  and  picked  him- 
self up  again,  without  a  hair  turned,  as  one  may  say,  and 
started  off  with  as  fresh  a  pace  as  though  nothing  had 
knocked  him  over.  Other  men  got  his  speed  sometimes ; 
but  nobody  could  ever  equal  his  stay.  For  an  "  out  and 
out  goer "  there  was  nobody  like  Deadly  Dash ;  and 
though  only  a  Captain  of  Horse,  with  few  "  expectations," 
he  did  what  Dukes  daren't  have  done,  and  lived  at  a 
faster  rate  than  all  the  elder  sons  in  the  kingdom  put. 
together.  Dash  had  the  best  bow  and  the  brightest  wits, 
the  lightest  morals  and  the  heaviest  debts  of  any  sabreur 
in  the  Service ;  very  unscrupulous  fellows  were  staggered 
at  his  devil-me-care  vices  ;  and  as  for  reputation,  —  "a 
deuced  pleasant  fellow.  Dash,"  they  used  to  say  at  the 
Curragh,  in  the  Guards'  Club,  at  Thatched  House  anniver- 
sary dinners,  in  North  Indian  cantonments,  in  Brighton 
barrack-rooms,  or  in  any  of  the  many  places  where  Deadly 
Dash  was  a  household  word  ;  "  a  very  pleasant  fellow  ;  no 
end  '  fit '  always,  best  fun  in  life  over  the  olives  when  you 
get  him  in  humor ;  shoot  you  dead  though  next  morning, 
if  he  want,  and  you  be  handy  for  him  in  a  neat  snug  lit- 
tle Bad  ;  make  some  devil  of  a  viot  on  you  too  afterwards, 
just  as  pleasantly  as  if  he  were  offering  you  a  Lopez  to 
smoke!" 

Now,  that  was  just  the  sort  of  celebrity  that  made  m'' 
mad  to  see  the  oAvner  of  it;  there  wasn't  a  living  being, 
except  that  year's  favorite  out  of  the  Whitewall  establish- 
ment, that  I  was  half  so  eager  to  look  at,  or  so  reverent 
when  I  thought  of,  as  "  the  Killer."  I  was  very  young 
then.  I  had  gone  through  a  classic  course  of  yellow  cov- 
ers from  Jeffs'  and  Rolandi's,  and  I  had  a  vague  impres- 
sion that  a  man  who  had  had  a  dozen  barri^re  affairs 
abroad,  and  been  "enfant"  to  every  lovely  lionne  of  his 
day,  must  of  necessity  be  like  the  heroes  of  Delphine 
Demireps'  novels,  who  had  each  of  them  always  a  "  je  ne 
sais  quoi  de  farouche  et  de  fier  dans  ses  grands  yeux  noirs, 


240  DEADLY    DASH. 

et  toute  la  revelation  d'une  ame  usee,  raais  dominee  par- 
des  passions  encore  inepuisables,  ecrite  sur  son  sombre 
et  pale  visage,"  &c.,  &c.,  in  the  Demireps'  most  telling 
style. 

I  don't  know  quite  what  I  expected  to  see  in  the  Killer, 
but  I  think  it  was  a  sort  of  compound  of  Monte  Christo, 
Mephistopheles,  and  Murat  mixed  in  one;  what  I  did  see 
was  a  slight  delicate  man  with  a  face  as  fair  and  soft  as  a 
girl's,  the  gentlest  possible  manners,  and  a  laugh  like 
music.  Deadly  Dash  had  led  a  life  as  bad  as  he  could 
lead,  had  lit  his  cigar  without  a  tremor  in  the  wrist,  on 
many  gray  mornings,  while  his  adversary  lay  dying  hard 
among  the  red  rank  grasses,  had  gamed  so  deep  twenty- 
four  hours  at  a  stretch  that  the  most  reckless  galerie  in 
Europe  held  their  breath  to  watch  his  play ;  had  had  a 
tongue  of  silver  for  his  intrigues  and  a  nerve  of  steel  for 
hi^  vendetta ;  had  lived  in  reckless  rioting  and  drunk 
deep ;  but  the  Demirep  would  not  have  had  him  at  any 
price  in  her  romance ;  he  looked  so  simply  and  quietly 
thorough-bred,  he  was  so  utterly  guiltless  of  all  her  ortho- 
dox traits.  The  gentlest  of  mortals  was  Deadly  Dash ; 
when  you  first  heard  his  sweet  silvery  voice,  and  his 
laughter  as  light  and  airy  as  a  woman's,  you  would  never 
believe  how  often  abroad  there  a  dead  man  had  been  left 
to  get  stiff  and  cold  among  the  clotted  herbage,  while  the 
Killer  went  out  of  the  town  by  the  early  express,  smok- 
ing and  reading  the  "  Charivari,"  and  sipping  some  cold 
Cura9oa  punch  out  of  his  flask. 

"  Of  course ! "  growled  a  man  to  me  once  in  the  Guards* 
smoking-room,  an  order  of  the  Scots  Fusilleers  to  Mon- 
treal having  turned  him  misanthrope.  "  Did  Mephisto- 
pheles ever  come  out  in  full  harness,  with  horns  and  tail 
complete,  eh  ?  Not  such  a  fool.  He  looked  like  a  gen- 
tleman, and  talked  like  a  wit.  Would  the  most  dunder- 
headed  Cain  in  Christendom,  I  should  be  glad  to  know, 
be  such  an  ass  as  to  go  about  town  with  the  brand  on  his 


DEADLY    DASn.  241 

forehead,  when  lie  coukl  turn  down  Bond  Street  any  day 
and  get  a  dash  of  the  ladies'  pearl  powder  ?  Who  ever 
shows  anything  now,  my  good  fellow  ?  Not  that  Dash 
'paints,' to  give  the  deuce  his  due — except  himself  a 
little  blacker  even  than  he  is  ;  he  don't  cant ;  he  could  n't 
cant;  not  to  save  his  life,  I  believe.  But  as  to  his  be- 
witching you,  almost  as  bad  as  he  does  the  women,  I  know 
all  about  that.     I  used  to  swear  by  him  till " 

"Till  what?" 

"Till  he  cut  a  brother  of  mine  out  with  Rachel,  and 
shot  him  in  the  woods  of  Chantilly  for  flaring-up  rough 
at  the  rivalry.  Charlie  was  rather  a  good  fellow,  and 
Dash  and  I  did  n't  speak  after  that,  you  see.  Great  bore  ; 
bosh  too,  perhaps.  Dash  brews  the  best  Cura9oa  punch 
in  Europe,  and  if  he  name  you  the  winning  mount  for  the 
Grauby,  you  may  let  the  talent  damn  you  as  they  like. 
►Still  you  know  as  he  killed  Charlie,  — "  and  the  Guards- 
man stuck  a  great  cheroot  in  his  mouth,  in  doubt  as  to 
whether,  after  all,  it  was  n't  humbug,  and  an  uncalled-for 
sacrifice,  rather  scenic  and  sentimental,  to  drop  an  ex- 
pert at  Cura9oa  brew,  and  a  sure  prophet  for  Croxton 
Park,  just  because  in  a  legitimate  fashion  he  had  potted 
your  brother  and  relieved  your  entail ;  —  on  the  whole,  a 
friendly  act  rather  than  otherwise  ?  "  Keep  clear  of  the 
Killer,  though,  young  one,"  he  added,  as  he  sauntered 
out.  "  He 's  like  that  cheetah  cub  of  Berkeley's ;  soft  as 
silk,  you  know,  patte  de  velours,  and  what  d'ye  call  'em, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it,  but  deucedly  deadly  to  deal  with." 

I  did  know :  it  was  the  eternal  refrain  that  was  heard 
on  all  sides  ;  from  the  wily  Jews  through  whose  meshes 
he  slipped ;  the  unhappy  duns  who  were  done  by  him  ; 
the  beauties  who  were  bewitched  by  him ;  the  hosts  and 
husbands  who,  having  him  down  for  the  pheasants,  found 
him  poacli  other  preserves  than  those  of  the  cover-sides; 
the  women  who  had  their  characters  shattered  by  a  sil- 
very sneer  from  a  voice  that  was  as  soft,  in  its  murdei-ona 

^1  Q 


242  DEADLY    DASH. 

slander,  as  in  its  equally  murderous  wooing ;  and  all  the 
rest,  who,  in  some  shape  or  another,  owed  ruin  to  that 
Apollo  Apollyou  —  Deadly  Dash.  Ruin  which  at  last 
became  so  wide  and  so  deep,  that  even  vice  began  to  look 
virtuous  when  his  name  Avas  mentioned  (vice  always  does 
when  she  thinks  you  are  reallv  cleared  oxit),  and  men  of 
his  own  corps  and  his  own  club  began  to  get  shy  of  hav- 
ing the  Killer's  arm  linked  in  theirs  too  often  down  Pall 
Mall,  for  its  wrist  was  terribly  steady  in  either  Hazard, 
whether  of  the  yard  of  green  table  or  the  twenty  yards 
of  green  turf. 

At  last  the  crisis  came :  the  Killer  killed  one  too  many; 
a  Russian  Prince  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes,  in  a  quarrel 
about  a  pretty  wretched  little  chorus-singer  of  the  Cafe 
Alcazar,  who  took  their  fancies  both  at  once.  The  mondes 
thought  it  terribly  Avicked,  not  the  deed  you  know,  but 
the  audacity  of  a  cavalry  man's  having  potted  a  Very 
Serene  High  Mightiness.  In  a  Duke,  all  these  crimes 
and  crimcons,  though  as  scarlet,  would  have  been  held 
but  the  crimson  gold-dotted  fruit  adorning  the  strawberry- 
leaves  ;  Deadly  Dash,  a  Light  Dragoon  Avhose  name  was 
signed  to  plenty  of  "  floating  little  bills,"  could  not  bid 
high  enough  to  purchase  his  pardon  from  society,  which 
says  to  its  sinners  with  austere  front  of  virtue,  "  Oblivion 
cannot  be  hired,  —  unless,"  adds  Society,  dropping  to 
mellowest  murmur  her  whisper,  "  unless  you  can  give  us 
a  premium ! "  So  Dash,  with  a  certain  irresistible  though 
private  pressure  upon  him  from  the  Horse  Guards  —  sent 
in  his  papers  to  sell.  What  had  been  done  so  often  could 
not  now  be  done  again ;  the  first  steeple-chaser  in  the 
Service  could  not  at  last  even  save  his  stake,  but  was 
finally,  irretrievably,  struck  out. 

Certainly  the  fellow  Avas  a  bad  felloAV,  and  deserved  his 
crash  so  far ;  he  had  no  scruples,  and  no  conscience ;  he 
spared  neither  Avoman  nor  man  ;  of  remorse  he  had  ncA'er 
felt  a  twinge,  and  if  you  Averc  in  his  path  he  Avould  pii-k 


DEADLY    DASH.  243 

you  off  some  way  or  other  as  indifferently  as  if  you  were 
one  of  the  pigeons  at  Hornsey.  And  yet,  he  had  been 
kind  to  me,  though  I  was  a  young  one ;  with  his  own 
variable  Free  Lance  sort  of  liberality,  the  man  would 
give  his  last  sou  to  get  you  out  of  any  difiiculty,  and 
would  carry  off  your  mistress,  or  beggar  you  at  chicken- 
hazard,  with  the  self-same  pleasant  air  the  next  day :  and 
I  could  not  help  being  sorry  that  things  had  come  to  this 
pass  with  him.  He  shot  so  superbly !  Put  him  where 
you  would,  in  a  Avarm  corner  Avhile  the  bouquets  of 
pheasants  were  told  off;  in  a  punt,  while  a  square  half- 
mile  of  wild-ducks  whirred  up  from  the  marshes ;  in  a 
dark  forest  alley  in  Transylvania,  while  the  great  boar 
rushed  down  through  the  twilight,  foaming  blood  and 
roaring  fury  ;  in  a  still  Indian  night  with  the  only  target 
here  and  there  a  dusky  head  diving  amidst  the  jhow 
jungle  three  hundred  yards  away:  put  him  where  you 
would,  he  was  such  a  magnificent  shot !  The  sins  of  a 
Frankenstein  should  not  have  lost  such  a  marksman  as 
Deadly  Dash  to  the  Service. 

But  the  authorities  thought  otherwise ;  they  were  not 
open  to  the  fact,  that  the  man  who  had  been  out  in  more 
barriere  affairs,  and  had  won  more  Grand  JMilitary  stakes 
«han  any  other,  should,  by  all  laws  of  war-policy,  have 
had  his  blackest  transgressions  forgiven  him,  till  he  could 
have  been  turned  to  account  against  Ghoorkas,  Maories, 
or  Caffres.  The  authorities  instead,  made  him  send  in 
his  papers,  not  knowing  the  grand  knack  of  turning  a 
scamp  into  a  hero  —  a  process  that  requires  some  genius 
and  some  clairvoyance  in  the  manipulator,  —  and  Deadly 
Dash,  with  his  lightest  and  airiest  laugh,  steamed  down 
channel  one  late  autumn  night,  marked,  disgraced,  and 
outlawed,  for  creditors  by  the  score  were  after  him,  know- 
ing very  well  that  he  and  his  old  gay  lawless  life,  and  his 
own  wild  pleasant  world,  and  his  old  lands  yonder  in  the 
green  lieart  of  the  grass  countries  that  had  gone  ruoil  by 


244  DEADLY    DASH. 

rood  to  the  Hebrews,  were  all  divorced  for  ever  with  a 
great  gulf  between  them  that  could  never  close. 

So  he  dropped  out  of  the  Service,  out  of  the  country, 
out  of  remembrance,  out  of  regret ;  nobody  said  a  De 
Profundis  over  him,  and  some  men  breathed  the  freer. 
We  can  rarely  be  sure  of  any  who  will  be  sorry  to  miss 
us ;  but  we  can  always  be  cei-tain  of  some  to  be  glad  we 
are  gone.  And  in  the  Killer's  case  these  last  were  legion. 
Here  and  there  were  one  or  two  who  owed  him  a  wayward, 
inconstant  bizarre  fit  of  generosity ;  but  there  were  on 
the  other  hand  hundreds  who  owed  him  nothing  less  than 
entire  ruin. 

So  Deadly  Dash  went  with  nobody  to  regret  him  and 
nobody  to  think  of  him  for  a  second,  after  the  nine  hours' 
wonder  in  the  clubs  and  the  mess-rooms  tliat  his  levanting 
"  under  a  cloud  "  occasioned ;  and  so  the  old  sobriquet, 
that  had  used  to  have  so  signal  a  notoriety,  dropped  out 
of  men's  mouths  and  was  forgotten.  Where  he  was  gone 
no  one  knew ;  and  to  be  sure  no  one  asked.  Metaphori- 
cally, he  was  gone  to  the  devil ;  and  when  a  man  takes 
that  little  tour,  if  he  furnish  talk  for  a  day  he  has  had 
very  distinguished  and  lengthened  obsequies  as  friendship 
goes  in  this  world.  Now  and  then  in  the  course  of  half- 
a-dozen  years  I  remembered  him,  when  I  looked  up  at 
the  head  of  a  Royal  over  my  mantelpiece,  with  thirteen 
points,  that  he  had  stalked  once  in  Ayrshire  and  given 
to  me ;  but  nobody  else  gave  a  thought  to  the  Killer. 
Time  passed,  and  whether  he  had  been  killed  fighting  in 
Chili  or  Bolivia,  shot  himself  at  Homburg,  become 
Mussulman  and  entered  the  Sultan's  army,  gone  to  figlit 
with  the  Kabyles  and  Bedouins,  turned  brigand  for  the 
Neapolitan  Bourbons,  or  sunk  downward  by  the  old  well- 
worn  stage,  so  sadly  and  so  often  travelled,  into  an  ad- 
venturer living  by  the  skill  of  his  ecart6  and  the  dread 
surety  of  his  shot,  we  did  not  know ;  we  did  not  care. 


DEADLY  DAsrr.  245 

When  society  h.as  given  a  man  the  sack,  it  mottery  un- 
commonly little  whether  he  has  given  himself  a  shroud. 

Seven  or  eight  years  after  the  name  of  Deadly  Dash 
had  ceased  to  be  heard  among  cavalry  men,  and  quoted 
on  all  things  "horsey,"  whether  of  the  flat  or  of  the  ridge 
and  furrow,  I  was  in  the  Confederate  States,  on  leave  for 
a  six  montlis'  tour  there.  It  was  after  Lee's  raid  across 
the  border  and  the  days  of  Gettysburgh.  I  had  run  the 
blockade  in  a  fast-built  clipper,  and  pushed  on  at  once 
into  the  heart  of  Virginia,  to  be  in  the  full  heat  of  what- 
ever should  come  on  the  cards ;  cutting  the  cities  rather, 
and  keeping  as  much  as  I  could  to  the  camps  and  the 
woods,  for  I  wanted  to  see  the  real  thing  in  the  rough. 
In  my  relish  for  adventure,  however,  I  was  a  trifle,  as  it 
proved,  too  foolhardy. 

Starting  alone  one  day  to  cross  the  thirty  miles  or  so 
that  parted  me  from  the  encampment  of  some  Virginian 
Horse,  with  no  other  companions  than  a  very  weedy- 
looking  steel  gray,  and  a  brace  of  revolvers,  I  fairly  "  lost 
tracks,"  and  had  not  a  notion  of  my  way  out  of  a  wilder- 
ness of  morass  and  forest,  all  glowing  with  the  scarlet 
and  the  green  of  the  Indian  summer.  Here  and  there 
were  beautiful  wild  pools  and  lakes  shut  in  by  dense  vege- 
tation, so  dense,  that  at  noon  it  was  dark  as  twilight,  and 
great  tablelands  of  rock  jutted  out  black  and  rugged  in 
place? ;  but  chiefly  as  far  as  was  to  be  seen  stretched  the 
deep  entangled  woodland,  with  nothing  else  to  break  it, 
brooding  quietly  over  square  leagues  of  swamp.  The 
orioles  wera  singing  their  sweetest,  wildest  music  over- 
head ;  sign  of  war  there  was  none,  save  to  be  sure,  now 
and  then  when  I  came  on  a  black,  arid  circle,  where  a 
few  charred  timbers  showed  where  a  hut  had  been  burnt 
down  and  deserted,  or  my  horse  shied  and  snorted  uneasily, 
and  half  stumbled  over  some  shapeless  log  on  the  ground 
^  a  log  that  when  you  looked  closer  was  the  swollen 
21* 


246  DEADLY    DASH. 

ohattered  body  of  a  man  who  had  died  hard,  with  the 
grasses  wrenched  up  in  his  fingers  that  the  ants  had  eaten 
bare,  and  the  hollows  of  his  eyes  staring  open  where  the 
carrion  birds  had  plucked  the  eyeballs  out.  And  near 
him  there  were  sure  to  be,  half  sunk  in  swamp,  or  cleaned 
to  skeletons  by  the  eagles  and  hawks,  five,  or  ten,  or 
twenty  more,  lying  nameless  and  unburied  there,  where 
they  had  fallen  in  some  scuffle  with  pickets,  or  some  stray 
cavalry  skirmish,  to  be  told  off  as  "  missing,"  and  to  be 
thought  of  no  more.  These  groups  I  came  upon  more 
than  once  rotting  among  the  rich  Virginian  soil,  while 
the  scarlet  and  purple  weight  of  blossoming  boughs 
swayed  above,  and  the  bright  insect  life  fluttered  hum- 
ming around  them ;  they  were  the  only  highway  marks 
through  the  wooded  wilderness. 

So  lonely  was  it  mile  after  mile,  and  so  little  notion 
had  I  of  either  the  way  in  or  the  way  out,  that  the  hallalif 
of  a  boar-hunt,  or  the  sweet  mellow  tongues  of  the  bounces 
when  they  have  found  in  the  coverts  at  home,  were  nevei 
brighter  music  to  me  than  the  sharp  crack  of  rifles  and 
the  long  sullen  roll  of  musketry  as  they  suddenly  broke 
the  silence,  while  I  rode  along,  firing  from  the  west  that 
lay  on  my  left.  The  gray,  used  to  powder,  pointed  his 
ears  and  quickened  his  pace.  Though  a  weedy,  fiddle- 
headed  beast,  his  speed  was  not  bad,  and  I  rattled  him 
over  the  ground,  crashing  through  undergrowth  and 
wading  through  pools,  with  all  my  blood  up  at  the  tune 
of  those  ringing  cheery  shots ;  the  roar  growing  louder 
and  louder  with  every  moment,  and  the  sulphur  scent  of 
the  smoke  borne  stronger  and  stronger  down  on  the  wind, 
till  the  horse  broke  j)ele-mele  through  a  network  of  para- 
sites ;  dashed  downward  along  a  slope  of  dank  herbage, 
slipping  at  every  step,  and  with  his  hind  legs  tucked 
under  him ;  and  shot,  like  a  run-in  for  a  race,  on  to  a 
green  plateau,  where  the  skirmish  was  going  on  in  hot 
earnest. 


DEADLY    DASn.  247 

A  glance  tcld  me  how  the  land  lay.  A  handful  of 
Southern  troopers  held  their  own  with  tremendous  diffi- 
culty against  three  divisions  of  Federal  infantry,  whom 
they  had  unexpectedly  encountered,  as  the  latter  were 
marching  across  the  j^lateau  with  some  batteries  of  foot 
artillery,  —  the  odds  were  probably  scarcely  less  than  five 
to  one.  The  Southerners  were  fighting  magnificently,  as 
firm  in  their  close  square  of  four  hundred  as  the  Consular 
Guard  at  Marengo,  but  so  surrounded  by  the  Northern 
host,  that  they  looked  like  a  little  island  circled  round 
by  raging  breakers.  Glancing  down  on  the  plain  as  my 
horse  scoured  and  slid  along  the  incline,  the  nucleus  of 
Southerners  looked  hopelessly  lost  amidst  the  belching 
fire  and  pressing  columns  of  the  enemy.  The  whole  was 
eurrounded  and  hidden  by  the  whirling  clouds  of  dust 
and  smoke  that  swirled  above  in  a  white  heavy  mist ;  but 
through  this  the  sabres  flashed,  the  horses'  heads  reared, 
maddened  and  foam-covered,  like  so  many  bas-reliefs  of 
Bucephalus,  the  lean  rifle-barrels  glittered,  and  for  a 
moment  I  saw  the  Southern  leader,  steady  as  a  rock  in 
the  centre,  hewing  like  a  trooper  right  and  left,  and  with 
a  gray  heron's  feather  floating  from  his  sombrero,  a  signal 
that  seemed  as  well  known  and  as  closely  followed  as  the 
snowy  plume  of  Murat. 

To  have  looked  on  at  this  and  not  have  taken  a  share 
in  it,  one  would  have  been  a  stone,  not  a  man,  and  much 
less  a  cavalry-man  ;  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  smashed 
the  gray  across  the  plateau,  hurled  him  into  the  thick  of 
the  melee,  dashed  soviehow  through  the  Federal  ranks, 
and  was  near  the  gray  plume  and  fighting  for  the  Old 
Dominion  before  you  could  have  shouted  a  stave  of 
"Dixie."  I  was  a  "non-combatant,"  I  was  a  "neutral" 
—  delicate  Anglo-euphemism  for  coward,  friend  to  neither 
and  traitor  to  both !  —  I  was  on  a  tour  of  observation,  and 
had  no  business  to  fire  a  shot  for  one  or  the  other  perhaps, 
but  T  forgot  all  that,  and  with  the  bridle  in  my  teeth  and 


248  DEADLY    DASH. 

a  pistol  in  each  hand,  I  rode  down  to  give  one  blo^s^  thb 
more  for  the  weak  side. 

How  superbly  that  Gray  Feather  fought ! — keeping  his 
men  Avell  up  round  him,  though  saddle  after  saddle  was 
emptied,  and  horse  after  horse  tore  riderless  out  of  tho 
ranks,  or  reeled  over  on  their  heads,  spurting  blood,  ho 
sat  like  a  statue,  he  fought  like  a  Titan,  his  sabre  seemed 
flashing  unceasingly  in  the  air,  so  often  was  it  raised  to 
come  down  again  like  lightning  through  a  sword-arm,  or 
lay  open  a  skull  to  the  brains  ;  the  shots  ploughed  up  the 
earth  round  him,  and  rattled  like  hail  through  the  air,  a 
score  of  balls  were  aimed  at  him  alone,  a  score  of  sabres 
crossed  his  own  ;  but  he  w^as  cool  as  St.  Lawrence  ice,  and 
laid  the  men  dead  in  struggling  heaps  under  his  charger's 
hoofs :  only  to  fight  near  the  man  was  a  glorious  intoxica- 
tion ;  you  seemed  to  "  breathe  blood"  till  you  got  drunk 
with  it. 

The  four  hundred  had  been  mowed  down  to  two;  I  did 
as  good  work  as  I  could,  having  wrenched  a  sword  out  of 
some  dead  trooper's  hand ;  but  I  was  only  one,  and  the 
Northerners  counted  by  thousands.  -Come  out  of  it  alive 
I  never  expected  to  do ;  but  I  vow  it  was  the  happiest 
day  of  my  life — the  pace  was  so  splendidly  fast!  The 
Gray  Feather  at  last  glanced  anxiously  around ;  his  men 
stuck  like  death  to  him,  ready  to  be  hewed  down  one  by 
one,  and  die  game ;  his  teeth  were  set  tight,  and  his  eyes 
had  a  flash  in  them  like  steel.  "  Charge !  and  cut 
through  ! "  he  shouted,  his  voice  rolling  out  like  a  clarion, 
giving  an  order  that  it  seemed  could  be  followed  by 
nothing  short  of  supernatural  aid.  The  Southrons  thought 
otherwise ;  they  only  heard  to  obey ;  they  closed  up  as 
steadily  as  though  they  were  a  squadron  on  parade, 
despite  the  great  gaps  between  them  of  dying  chargers, 
and  of  heaped-up  killed  and  wounded,  that  broke  their 
ranks  like  so  much  piled  stones  and  timber ;  they  halted 
a  moment,  the  murderous  fire  raking  them  right  and  left, 


DEADLY    DASn.  249 

front  and  rear;  then,  -with  that  dense  mass  of  troops 
round  them,  they  charged ;  sliivered  the  first  line  that 
wedged  them  in ;  pierced  by  sheer  force  of  impetus  the 
columns  that  opened  fire  in  their  path  ;  wrenched  them- 
selves through  as  through  the  steel  jaws  of  a  trap,  and 
swept  out  on  to  the  green  level  of  the  open  plateau,  with 
a  wild  rallying  Virginian  shout  that  rings  in  my  ears 
now ! 

I  have  been  in  a  good  many  hot  things  in  my  time ; 
but  I  never  knew  anything  that  for  pace  and  long  odds 
could  be  anything  near  to  that. 

I  had  kept  with  them  through  the  charge  with  no 
other  scratch  than  a  slioulder  cut ;  and  I  had  been  close 
to  their  chief  through  it  all.  When  we  were  clean  out  on 
the  plains  beyond  pursuit  —  for  the  Union-men  had  not  a 
squadron  of  cavalry,  though  their  guns  at  long  range 
belched  a  storm  in  our  Avake — he  turned  in  his  saddle 
without  checking  his  mare's  thundering  gallop,  and 
levelled  his  rifle  that  was  slung  at  his  side.  "  I  '11  have 
the  General,  anyhow,"  he  said,  quietly  taking  aim — still 
without  checking  his  speed  —  at  the  knot  of  staff-officers 
that  now  were  scarce  more  than  specks  in  a  blurred  mass 
of  mist.  He  fired  ;  and  the  centre  figure  in  that  indistinct 
and  fast-vanishing  group  fell  from  the  saddle,  while  the 
yell  of  fury  that  the  wind  faintly  floated  nearer  told  us 
that  the  shot  had  been  deadly.  The  Gray  Feather 
laughed,  a  careless  airy  laugh  of  triumph,  while  he 
swept  on  at  topmost  pace ;  a  little  more,  and  we  should 
dive  down  into  the  dark  aisles  of  grand  forest-trees  and 
cavernous  ravines  of  timber  roads,  safe  from  all  pursuit; 
a  second,  and  we  should  reach  the  green  core  of  the  safe 
and  silent  woods,  the  cool  shelter  of  mountain-backed 
lakes,  the  sure  refuge  of  tangled  coverts.  It  was  a  guinea 
to  a  shilling  that  we  gained  it ;  it  was  all  but  won ;  a 
moment's  straight  run-in,  and  we  should  have  it!  But 
that  moment  was  not  to  be  ours. 


250  DEADLY    DASH. 

Out  of  the  narrow  cleft  of  a  valley  on  the  left,  all 
screened  with  hanging  tumbled  foliage,  and  dark  as  death, 
there  poured  suddenly  across  our  front  a  dense  body  of 
Federal  troopers  and  Horse  Artillery,  two  thousand 
strong  at  the  least,  full  gallop,  to  join  the  main  army. 
We  were  surrounded  in  a  second,  in  a  second  overpowered 
by  sheer  strength  of  numbers ;  only  two  hundred  of  us, 
many  sorely  w'ounded,  and  on  mounts  that  were  jaded 
and  ridden  out  of  all  pace,  let  us  fight  as  we  would,  what 
could  we  do  against  fresh  and  picked  soldiers,  swarming 
down  on  us  like  a  swarm  of  hornets,  while  in  our  rear 
was  the  main  body  through  which  we  had  just  cut  our 
way?  That  the  little  desperate  band  "died  hard,"  I  need 
not  say ;  but  the  vast  weight  of  the  fresh  squadrons  pressed 
our  little  knot  in  as  if  between  the  jaws  of  a  trap,  crush- 
ing it  like  grain  between  two  iron  weights.  The  Gray 
Feather  fought  like  all  the  Knights  of  the  liouud  Table 
mei'ged  in  one,  till  he  streamed  with  blood  from  head  to 
foot,  and  his  sabre  was  hacked  and  bent  like  an  ash-stick, 
as  did  a  man  near  him,  a  tall  superb  Virginian,  hand- 
some as  any  Vandyke  or  Velasquez  picture.  At  last  both 
the  Gray  Feather  and  he  went  down,  not  by  death  —  it 
would  not  come  to  them — but  literally  hurled  out  of  their 
stirrup-leathers  by  crowding  scores  who  poured  on  them, 
hamstrung  or  shot  their  horses,  and  made  them  them- 
selves prisoners  —  not,  however,  till  the  assailants  lay 
heaped  ten  deep  about  their  slaughtered  chargers.  For 
myself,  a  blow  from  a  sabre,  a  second  afterwards,  felled 
me  like  so  much  wood.  I  saw  a  whirling  blaze  of  sun,  a 
confused  circling  eddy  of  dizzy  color,  forked  flames,  and 
flashes  of  light,  and  I  knew  no  more,  till  I  opened  my 
eyes  in  a  dark,  square,  unhealthy  wooden  chambei',  with 
a  dreamy  but  settled  conviction  that  I  was  dead,  and  in 
the  family  vault,  far  away  under  the  green  old  elms  of 
Warwickshire,  with  the  rooks  cawing  above  my  head. 

As  the  delusion  dissipated  and  the  mists  cleared,  J  saw 


DEADLY    DASn.  251 

through  the  uncertain  light  a  face  that  was  strangely 
but  vaguely  familiar  to  me,  connected  somehow  with  inco- 
lierent  memories  of  life  at  home,  and  yet  unknown  to  me. 
It  was  bronzed  deeply,  bearded,  with  Hakes  of  gray 
among  the  fairness  of  the  hair,  much  aged,  much  worn, 
scarred  and  stained  just  now  with  the  blood  of  undressed 
wounds  and  the  dust  of  the  combat,  for  there  was  no  one 
merciful  enough  there  to  bring  a  stoup  of  water ;  it  was 
rougher,  darker,  sterner,  and  yet,  with  it  all,  nobler,  too, 
than  the  face  that  I  had  known.  I  lay  and  stared 
blankly  at  it :  it  was  the  face  of  the  Southern  Leader  of 
the  morning,  who  sat  now,  on  a  pile  of  straw,  lookiug 
wearily  out  to  the  dying  sun,  one  amongst  a  group  of 
twenty,  prisoners  all,  like  myself.  I  moved,  and  he 
turned  his  eyes  on  me ;  they  had  laid  me  down  there  as  a 
"  gone  'coon,"  and  were  amazed  to  see  me  come  to  life 
again.  As  our  eyes  met  I  knew  him  —  he  was  Deadly 
Dash. 

The  old  name  left  my  lips  with  a  shout  as  strong  as  a 
half-killed  man  can  give.  It  seemed  so  strange  to  meet 
him  there,  captives  together  in  the  Unionists'  hands !  It 
struck  him  with  a  sharp  shock,  England  and  he  had 
been  divorced  so  long.  I  saw  the  blood  leap  to  his  fore- 
head, and  the  light  into  his  glance ;  then,  with  a  sipgle 
stride,  he  reached  the  straw  I  lay  on,  holding  my  hands 
in  his,  looking  on  me  with  the  kindly  eyes  that  had  used 
to  make  me  like  the  Killer,  and  greeting  me  with  a 
warmth  that  was  only  damped  and  durkened  by  regret 
that  my  battle  done  for  fair  Virginia  had  laid  me  low,  a 
prisoner  with  himself,  and  that  we  should  meet  thus,  in 
so  sharp  an  hour  of  adversity,  with  notliing  l)efore  us  but 
the  Capitol,  the  Carroll  prison,  or  worse.  Yet  thus  we 
did  meet  once  more  and  I  knew  at  last  what  had  been 
the  fate  of  Deadiy  Dash,  whom  England  had  outlawed 
as  a  scoundrel,  and  the  New  World  luxd  found  a  hero, 

Thougli  suffl^ring  almost  equally  himself,  he  tended  me 


252  DEADLY    DASH. 

with  the  kindliest  sympathy  ;  he  came  out  of  his  own  cat-t 
to  ponder  how  possible  it  might  be  to  get  me  eventual 
freedom  as  a  tourist  and  a  mere  accidental  sharer  in  the 
fray ;  he  was  interested  to  hear  all  that  I  would  tell  him 
of  my  own  affairs  and  of  his  old  friends  in  England,  but 
of  himself  he  would  not  speak ;  he  simply  said  he  had 
been  fighting  for  the  Confederacy  ever  since  the  war  had 
begun  ;  and  I  saw  that  he  strove  in  vain  to  shake  off  a 
deep  heart-broken  gloom  that  seemed  to  have  settled  on 
him,  doubtless,  as  I  thought,  from  the  cruel  defeat  of  the 
noon,  and  the  hopeless  captivity  into  which  he,  the  most 
restless  and  the  most  daring  soldier  that  ever  saw  service, 
was  now  flung. 

I  noticed,  too,  that  every  now  and  then  while  he  sat 
beside  me,  talking  low  —  for  there  were  sentinels  both  in 
and  out  the  rude  outhouse  of  the  farm  that  had  been 
turned  into  our  temporary  prison — his  eyes  wandered  to 
the  gallant  Virginian  who  had  been  felled  doAvn  with 
himself,  and  who,  covered  like  himself  with  blood  and 
dust,  and  with  his  broken  left  arm  hanging  shattered,  lay 
on  the  bare  earth  in  a  far-off  corner  motionless  and  silent, 
with  his  lips  pressed  tight  under  their  long  black  mous- 
taches, and  such  a  mute  unutterable  agony  in  his  eyes  as 
I  never  saw  in  any  human  face,  though  I  have  seen  deaths 
enough  in  the  field  and  the  sick-ward.  The  rest  of  the 
Confederate  captives  were  more  ordinary  men  (although 
from  none  was  a  single  word  of  lament  ever  wrenched) ; 
but  this  superb  Virginian  excited  my  interest,  and  I 
asked  his  name,  in  that  sort  of  languid  curiosity  at  pass- 
ing things  which  comes  with  weakness,  of  the  Killer, 
whose  glance  so  incessantly  wandered  towards  him, 

"Stuart  Lane,"  he  answered,  curtly,  and  added  no 
more ;  but  if  I  ever  saw  in  this  world  hatred,  passionate, 
ungovernable,  and  intense,  I  saw  it  in  the  Killer's  look 
as  his  glance  flashed  once  more  on  to  the  motionless  form 
of  the  handsomest,  bravest,  and  most  dauntless  officer  of 


DEADLY    DASn.  253 

his  gallant  regiment  that  he  had  seen  cut  to  pieces  there 
on  that  accursed  plateau. 

"A  major  of  yours?"  I  asked  him.  "Ah,  I  tliought 
so ;  he  fought  magnificently.  How  wretched  he  looks, 
though  he  is  too  proud  to  show  it !  " 

"He  is  thinking  of — of  his  bride.  He  married  three 
weeks  ago." 

The  words  were  simple  enough,  and  spoken  very  quietly ; 
but  there  was  an  unsteadiness,  as  of  great  effort,  over 
them ;  and  the  heel  of  his  heavy  spurred  jack-boot 
crashed  into  the  dry  mud  with  a  grinding  crush,  as  though 
it  trod  terrible  memories  down.  Was  it  a  woman  who 
was  between  these  two  comrades  in  arms  and  companions 
in  adversity  ?  I  wondered  if  it  were  so,  even  in  that  mo- 
ment of  keen  and  heavy  anxiety  for  us  all,  as  I  looked  at 
the  face  that  bent  very  kindly  over  the  straw  to  which  a 
shot  in  the  knee  and  a  deep  though  not  dangerous  shoul- 
der-wound bound  me.  It  was  very  different  to  the  face 
of  eight  or  nine  years  before — browner,  harder,  graver 
far;  and  yet  there  was  a  look  as  if  "sorrow  had  passed 
by  there,"  and  swept  the  old  heartlessness  and  gay  cal- 
lousness away,  burning  them  out  in  its  fires. 

Silence  fell  over  us  in  that  wretched  outshed  where  we 
were  huddled  together.  I  was  hot  with  incipient  fever, 
and  growing  light-headed  enough,  though  I  knew  what 
passed  before  me,  to  speak  to  Dash  once  or  twice  in  a 
dreamy  idea  that  we  were  in  the  Shires  watching  the 
run-in  for  the  "Soldiers'  Blue  Kiband."  The  minutes 
dragged  very  drearily  as  the  day  wore  itself  away.  There 
were  the  sullen  monotonous  tramj)  of  the  sentinels  to  and 
fro,  and,  from  without,  the  neighing  of  horses,  the  bugle 
calls,  the  roll  of  the  drums,  the  challenge  of  outposts  — ' 
all  the  varied,  endless  sounds  of  a  camp ;  for  the  farm- 
hoi.se  in  whose  shed  we  were  thrown  was  the  head-quar- 
ters juro  ton.  of  the  Federal  General  who  commanded  the 
Divisions  that  had  cost  the  Killer's  liundful  of  Horse  so 


254  DEADLY    DASH. 

fearfully  dear.  We  were  prisoners,  and  escape  was  im- 
possible. All  arms  of  course  had  been  removed  from  us; 
most,  like  myself,  were  too  disabled  by  wounds  to  have 
been  able  to  avail  ourselves  of  escape  had  it  been  possible; 
and  the  guard  was  doubled  both  in  and  out  the  shed ; 
there  was  nothing  before  any  of  us  but  the  certainty  of 
imprisonment  in  all  its  horrors  in  some  far-off  fortress  or 
obscure  jail.  There  was  the  possible  chance  that,  since 
certain  officers  on  whom  the  Northerners  set  great  store 
had  lately  fallen  into  Southern  hands,  an  exchange  might 
be  effected  ;  yet,  on  the  other  side,  graver  apprehensions 
still  existed,  since  we  knew  that  the  General  into  whose 
camp  we  had  been  brought  had  proclaimed  his  deliberate 
purpose  of  shooting  the  three  next  Secessionist  officers 
Avho  fell  into  his  power,  in  requital  for  three  of  his  own 
officers  who  had  been  shot,  or  were  said  to  have  been  shot, 
by  a  Southern  raider.  We  knew  very  well  that,  the 
threat  made,  it  would  be  executed ;  and  each  of  us,  as 
the  sun  sank  gradually  down  through  the  hot  skies  that 
were  purple  and  stormy  after  the  burning  day,  knew,  too, 
that  it  might  never  rise  again  to  greet  our  sight.  None 
of  us  would  have  heeded  whether  a  ball  would  hit  or 
miss  us  in  the  open,  in  a  fair  fight,  in  a  man-to-man  strug- 
gle ;  but  the  boldest  and  most  careless  amidst  us  felt  it 
very  bitter  to  die  like  dogs,  to  die  as  prisoners. 

Even  Deadly  Dash,  coolest,  most  hardened,  most  devil- 
may-care  of  soldiers  and  of  sinners,  sat  with  his  gaze 
fastened  on  the  slowly  sinking  light  in  the  west  with  the 
shadow  of  a  great  pain  upon  his  face,  while  every  now 
and  then  his  glance  wandered  to  Stuart  Lane,  and  a 
quick,  irrepressible  shudder  shook  him  whenever  it  did 
so.  The  Virginian  never  moved ;  no  sign  of  any  sort 
escaped  him  ;  but  the  passionate  misery  that  looked  out 
of  his  eyes  I  never  saw  equalled,  except,  pcrliaps,  in  the 
eyes  of  a  stag  that  I  once  shot  in  Wallachia,  and  that 
looked  up  with  just  such  a  look  before  it  died.     He  was 


DEADLY    DASH.  255 

thinking,  no  doubt,  of  the  ■woman  he  loved — wooed 
amidst  danger,  won  amidst  eahimity,  scarcely  possessed 
ere  lost  for  ever;  —  thinking  of  her  proud  beauty,  of  her 
bridal  caress,  that  would  never  again  touch  his  lips,  of 
her  fair  life  that  would  perish  with  the  destruction  of  his. 

Exhaustion  from  the  loss  of  blood  made  everything 
pass  dreamily,  and  yet  with  extraordinary  clearness, 
before  me.  I  felt  in  a  wakening  dream,  and  had  no  sense 
whatever  of  actual  existence,  and  yet  the  whole  scene  was 
so  intensely  vital  and  vivid  to  me,  that  it  seemed  burned 
into  my  very  brain  itself.  It  was  like  the  phantasmago- 
ria of  delirium,  utterly  impalpable,  but  yet  intensely  real. 
I  had  no  power  to  act  or  resist,  but  I  seemed  to  have  ten 
times  redoubled  power  to  see  and  hear  and  feel ;  I  was 
aware  of  all  that  passed,  with  a  hundredfold  more  sus- 
ceptibility to  it  than  I  ever  felt  in  health.  I  remember  a 
total  impossibility  that  came  on  me  to  decide  whether  I 
was  dreaming  or  was  actually  awake.  Twilight  fell, 
night  came ;  there  was  a  change  of  sentries,  and  a  light, 
set  up  in  a  bottle,  shed  a  flickering,  feeble,  yellow  gleam 
over  the  interior  of  the  shed,  on  the  dark  Rembrandt 
faces  of  the  Southerners  and  on  the  steel  of  the  guards' 
bayonets.  And  I  recollect  that  the  Killer,  who  sat  by  the 
tossed  straw  on  which  they  had  flung  me,  laughed  the  old. 
low,  sweet,  half-insolent  laugh  that  I  had  known  so  well 
in  early  days.  "II  j'aut  sox(ffrir  pour  etre  beau!  We  are 
picturesque,  at  any  rate,  (piite  Salvatorcsque !  Little 
Dickey  would  make  a  good  thing  of  us  if  he  could  paint 
lis  now.     He  is  alive,  I  suppose?" 

I  answered  him  I  believe  in  the  aflirnuitive;  but  the 
name  of  that  little  Bohemian  of  the  Brush,  who  had  used 
to  be  our  butt  and  protege  in  En<;land,  added  a  haze  the 
more  to  my  senses.  By  this  time  I  had  difllcuity  to  hold 
together  the  thread  of  how,  and  wlien,  and  why  I  had 
thus  met  again  the  face  that  h)oked  out  on  me  so  strangely 
familiarly  in  the  dull,  sickly  trembling  of  the  feeble  light 


256  DEADLY    DASH. 

of  this  black,  noisome  shed  in  the  heart  of  Federal  Divi- 
Bions. 

Through  that  haze  I  heard  the  challenge  of  the  sen- 
tries ;  I  saw  a  soldier  prod  with  his  bayonet  a  young  lad 
who  had  fainted  from  hainiorrhage,  and  whom  he  swore 
at  for  shamming.  I  was  conscious  of  the  entrance  of  a 
group  of  officers,  whom  I  knew  afterwards  to  be  the 
Northern  General  and  his  staff,  who  came  to  look  at 
their  captives.  I  knew,  but  only  dreamily  still,  that 
these  men  were  the  holders  of  our  fate,  and  would  decide 
on  it  then  and  there.  I  felt  a  listless  indifference,  utter 
and  opium-like,  as  to  what  became  of  me,  and  I  remem- 
ber that  Stuart  Lane,  and  Dash  himself,  rose  together,  and 
stood  looking  with  a  serene  and  haughty  disdain  down  on 
the  conquerors  Avho  held  their  lives  in  the  balance — 
without  a  trace  of  pain  upon  their  faces  now.  I  remem- 
ber how  like  they  looked  to  stags  that  turn  at  bay ;  like 
the  stags,  outnumbered,  hunted  down,  with  the  blood  of 
open  wounds  and  the  dust  of  the  long  chase  on  them  ; 
but,  like  the  deer,  too,  uncowed,  and  game  to  the  finish. 

Very  soon  their  doom  was  given.  Seven  were  to  be 
sent  back  with  a  flag  of  truce  to  be  exchanged  for  the 
seven  Federal  officers  they  wanted  out  of  the  Southern- 
ers' hands,  ten  were  to  be  transmitted  to  the  prisons  of 
the  North, — three  were  to  be  shot  at  day-dawn  in  the 
reprisal  before  named.  The  chances  of  life  and  of  death 
were  to  be  drawn  for  by  lottery,  and  at  once. 

Not  a  sound  escaped  the  Virginians,  and  not  a  muscle 
of  their  English  Leader's  face  moved :  the  prisoners,  to  a 
man,  heard  impassively,  with  a  grave  and  silent  dignity, 
that  they  were  to  throw  the  die  in  hazard,  with  death  for 
the  croupier  and  life  for  the  stake. 

The  General  and  his  staflT  waited  to  amuse  themselves 
with  personally  watching  the  turns  of  this  new  Rouge  et 
Noir ;  gambling  in  lives  was  a  little  refreshing  change 


DEADLY    DASn.  25T 

that  sultry,  dreary,  dun-colored  night,  camped  amongst 
burnt-out  farms  and  wasted  corn-lands. 

Slips  of  paper,  with  "  exchange,"  "  death,"  and  "  im- 
prisonment" written  on  them  in  the  numbers  needed, 
were  made  ready,  rolled  up,  and  tossed  into  an  empty 
canteen ;  each  man  was  required  to  come  forward  and 
draw,  I  alone  excepted  because  I  was  an  officer  of  the 
British  Army.  I  remember  passionately  arguing  that 
they  had  no  right  to  exempt  me,  since  I  had  been  in  the 
fray,  and  had  killed  three  men  on  my  own  hook,  and 
would  have  killed  thirty  more  had  I  had  the  chance  ;  but 
I  was  perhaps  incoherent  in  the  fever  that  was  fast  seizing 
all  my  limbs  from  the  rack  of  undressed  wounds ;  at  any 
rate,  the  Northerners  took  no  heed,  save  to  force  me  into 
silence,  and  the  drawing  began.  As  long  as  I  live  I  shall 
see  that  night  in  remembrance  with  hideous  distinctness : 
the  low  blackened  shed  with  its  foetid  odors  from  the 
cattle  lately  foddered  there ;  the  yellow  light  flaring  dully 
here  and  there  ;  the  glisten  of  the  cruel  rifles  ;  the  heaps 
of  straw  and  hay  soaked  with  clotted  blood ;  the  group 
of  Union  Officers  standing  near  the  doorway ;  and  the 
war-worn  indomitable  faces  of  the  Southerners,  with  the 
fairer  head  and  slighter  form  of  their  English  chief 
standing  out  slightly  in  front  of  all. 

The  Conscription  of  Death  commenced ;  a  Federal 
private  took  the  paper  from  each  man  as  he  drew  it,  and 
read  the  word  of  destiny  aloud.  Not  one  amongst  them 
faltered  or  paused  one  moment;  each  went, —  even  those 
most  exhausted,  most  in  agony, — with  a  calm  and  steady 
step,  as  they  would  have  marched  up  to  take  the  Flag  of 
the  Stars  and  Bars  from  Lee  or  Longstreet.  Not  one 
wailed  a  second's  breath  before  he  plunged  his  hand  into 
the  fatal  lottery. 

Deadly  Dash  was  tlie  first  called  :  there  was  not  one 
shadow  of  anxiety  upon  his  face ;  it  was  calm  without 
effort,  careless  without  bravado,  simply,  entirely  indifli'.r- 
22*  K 


258  DEADLY    DASH. 

ent.  Tliey  took  his  paper  aud  read  the  words  of  safety 
and  of  .ife  —  "  Exchange."  Then,  for  one  instant,  a  glory 
of  hope  flashed  like  the  sun  into  his  eyes — to  die  the 
next ;  aie  utterly. 

Three  followed  him,  and  they  all  drew  the  fiat  for 
detention ;  the  fifth  called  was  Stuart  Lane. 

Let  him  have  suffered  as  he  would,  he  gave  no  sign  of 
it  now ;  he  approached  with  his  firm,  bold  cavaliy  step, 
and  his  head  haughtily  lifted ;  the  proud,  fiery,  dauntless 
Cavalier  of  ideal  and  of  romance.  Without  a  tremor  in 
his  wrist  he  drew  his  paper  out  and  gave  it. 

One  word  alone  fell  distinct  on  the  silence  like  the  hiss 
of  a  shot  through  the  night — "Death!" 

He  bowed  his  head  slightly  as  if  in  assent,  and  stepped 
backward — still  without  a  sign. 

His  English  chief  gave  him  one  look, — it  was  that  of 
merciless  exultation,  of  brutal  joy,  of  dark,  Cain-like, 
murderous  hate ;  but  it  passed,  passed  quickly :  Dash's 
head  sank  on  his  chest,  and  on  his  face  there  was  the 
shadow,  I  think,  of  a  terrible  struggle — the  shadow,  I 
know,  of  a  great  remorse.  He  strove  with  his  longing 
greed  for  this  man's  destruction  ;  he  knew  that  he  thirsted 
to  see  Mm  die. 

The  Virginian  stood  erect  and  silent :  a  single  night 
and  the  strong  and  gallant  life,  the  ardent  passions,  the 
chivalrous  courage  to  do  and  dare,  and  the  love  that  was 
in  its  first  fond  hours  would  all  be  quenched  in  him  as 
though  they  had  never  been  ;  but  he  was  a  soldier,  and 
he  gave  no  sign  that  his  death-warrant  was  not  as  dear  to 
him  as  his  bridal-night  had  been.  Even  his  conquerors 
cast  one  glance  of  admiration  on  him  ;  it  was  only  his 
leader  who  felt  for  him  no  pang  of  reverence  and  pity. 

The  lottery  continued ;  the  hazard  was  played  out ;  life 
and  death  were  scattered  at  reckless  chance  amidst  the 
twenty  who  were  the  playthings  of  that  awful  gaming ; 
all  had  licen  done  in  perfect  silence  on  the  part  of  tho 


DEADLY    DASn.  2£-3 

condemned ;  not  one  seemed  to  think  or  to  feel  for  him- 
self, and  in  those  who  were  sent  out  to  their  grave  not  a 
grudge  lingered  against  their  comrades  of  happier  fortune. 
Deadly  Dash,  whose  fate  was  release,  alone  stood  with  his 
head  sunk,  thoughtful  and  weary. 

The  three  condemned  to  execution  were  remanded  to 
separate  and  solitary  confinement,  treated  already  as 
felons  for  that  one  short  night  which  alone  remained  to 
them.  As  his  guards  removed  him,  Stuart  Lane  paused 
slightly,  and  signed  to  his  chief  to  approach  him  ;  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  Dash,  and  his  voice  was  very  low,  though 
it  came  to  my  ear  where  they  stood  beside  me :  "  We  were 
rivals  once,  but  we  may  be  friends  Jio^v.  As  you  have 
loved  her,  be  pitiful  to  her  when  you  tell  her  of  my 
death,  —  God  knows  it  may  be  hers  !  As  you  have  loved 
her,  feel  what  it  is  to  die  without  one  last  look  on  her 
face!" 

Then,  and  then  only,  his  bronze  cheek  grew  white  as  a 
woman's,  and  his  whole  frame  shook  with  one  great  silent 
sob ;  his  guard  forced  him  on,  and  his  listener  had  made 
him  no  promise,  no  farewell ;  neither  had  he  taken  his 
hand.  He  had  heard  in  silence,  with  a  dark  and  evil 
gloom  alone  upon  him. 

The  Federal  General  sharply  summoned  him  from  his 
musing,  as  the  chief  of  those  to  be  exchanged  on  the 
morrow  under  a  white  flag  of  parley  ;  there  were  matters 
to  be  stated  to  and  to  be  arranged  with  him. 

"  I  will  only  see  you  alone.  General,"  he  answered 
curtly. 

The  Northerner  stared  startled,  and  casting  a  glance 
over  the  redoubtable  leader  of  horse,  whose  gray  feather 
had  become  known  and  dreaded,  thought  of  possible 
assassination.  Deadly  Dash  laughed  his  old  light,  ironic, 
contemptuous  laugh. 

"A  wounded   unarmed   man  can  scarcely  kill  youl 


260  DEADLY    DASFI. 

Have  as  many  of  your  staff  about  you  as  you  please,  but 
let  none  of  my  Virginians  be  present  at  our  interview." 

The  Northerners  thought  he  intended  to  desert  to  them, 
or  betray  some  movement  of  importance,  and  assented ; 
and  he  went  out  with  them  from  the  cattle-shed  into  the 
hot,  stormy  night,  and  the  Southerners  who  were  con- 
demned to  death  and  detention  looked  after  him  with  a 
long,  wistful,  dog-like  look.  They  had  been  with  him  in 
so  many  spirit-stirring  days  and  nights  of  peril,  and  they 
knew  that  never  would  they  meet  again.  He  had  not 
given  one  of  them  a  word  of  adieu ;  he  had  killed  too 
many  to  be  touched  by  his  soldiers'  loss.  Who  could 
expect  pity  from  Deadly  Dash  ? 

An  hour  passed ;  I  was  removed  under  a  guard  to  a 
somewhat  better  lodging  in  the  granary,  where  a  surgeon 
hastily  dressed  my  wounds,  and  left  me  on  a  rough  pallet 
with  a  jug  of  water  at  my  side,  and  the  sentinel  for  my 
only  watcher,  bidding  me  "  sleep."  Sleep !  I  could  not 
have  slept  for  my  ransom.  Though  life  had  hardened 
me,  and  made  me  sometimes,  as  I  fear,  callous  enough,  I 
could  not  forget  those  who  were  to  die  when  the  sun  rose; 
specially,  I  could  not  forget  that  gallant  Virginian  to 
whom  life  was  so  precious,  yet  who  gave  himself  with  so 
calm  a  fortitude  to  his  fate.  The  rivalry,  I  thought,  must 
be  deep  and  cruel,  to  make  the  man  from  whom  he  had 
won  what  they  both  loved  turn  from  him  in  hatred,  even 
in  such  extremity  as  his.  On  the  brink  of  a  comrade's 
grave,  feud  might  surely  have  been  forgotten? 

All  that  had  just  passed  was  reeling  deliriously  through 
my  brain,  and  I  was  panting  in  the  sheer  irritation  and 
exhaustion  of  gunshot  wounds,  when  through  the  gloom 
Dash  entered  the  granary,  closely  guarded,  but  allowed 
to  be  with  me  on  account  of  our  common  country.  Never 
was  I  more  thankful  to  see  a  familiar  face  from  home 
than  to  see  his  through  the  long  watches  of  that  burning, 
heavy,  interminable  night.     He  refused  to  rest;  he  sat 


DEADLY    DASH.  261 

by  me,  tending  me  as  gently  as  a  woman,  thong)/  he  was 
suffering  acutely  himself  from  the  injuries  received  in  the 
course  of  the  day  ;  he  watched  me  unweariedly,  though 
often  and  often  his  gaze  and  his  thoughts  wandered  far 
from  me,  as  he  looked  out  through  the  open  granary  door, 
past  the  form  of  the  sentinel,  out  to  the  starry  solemn 
skies,  the  deep  woods,  and  the  dark  silent  land  over  which 
the  stars  were  brooding,  large  and  clear. 

Was  he  thinking  of  the  Virginian  whose  life  would  die 
out  for  ever,  with  the  fading  of  those  stars,  or  of  the  wo- 
man whom  he  had  lost,  whose  love  was  the  doomed  sol- 
dier's, and  would  never  be  his  own,  though  the  grave 
closed  over  his  rival  with  the  morrow's  sun '?  Dreamily, 
half  unconsciously,  in  the  excitement  of  fever,  I  asked 
him  of  her  of  whom  I  knew  nothing: 

"  Did  you  love  that  woman  so  well  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the  distant  darkening  skie», 
and  he  answered  quietly,  as  though  rather  to  his  own 
thoughts  than  my  words,  —  "  Yes  :  I  love  her — as  I  never 
loved  in  that  old  life  in  England ;  as  we  never  love  but 
once,  I  think." 

"And  she?" 

"And  she — has  but  one  thought  in  the  world — Mm." 

His  voice,  as  he  answered,  now  grated  with  dull,  drag- 
ging misery  over  the  words. 

"  Had  she  so  much  beauty  that  she  touched  you  like 
this?" 

He  smiled  slightly,  a  faint,  mournful  smile,  unuttei- 
ably  sad. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  very  lovely,  but  her  beauty  is  the  least 
rare  charm.  She  is  a  woman  for  whom  a  man  would  live 
his  greatest,  and  if  he  cannot  live  for  her — may — die." 

The  utterance  was  very  slow,  and  seemed  to  lie  on  mo 
like  a  hand  on  my  lips  compelling  me  to  silence ;  he  had 
forgotten  all,  except  his  memory  of  her,  and  where  he  sat 
with  his  eyes  fixed  outward  on  the  drifting  clouds  that 


262  DEADLY    DASH. 

floated  across  the  stars,  I  saw  his  lips  quiver  once,  and  1 
heard  him  murmur  half  aloud  :  "  My  darling !  My  dar- 
ling!    You  will  know  how  I  loved  you  then " 

And  the  silence  was  never  broken  between  us,  but  he 
sat  motionless  thus  all  the  hours  through,  looking  out  at 
the  deep  still  woods,  and  the  serene  and  lustrous  skies, 
till  the  first  beams  of  the  sun  f,hone  over  the  hills  in  the 
east,  and  I  shuddered,  where  I  lay,  at  its  light; — for  I 
knew  it  was  the  signal  of  death. 

Then  he  arose,  and  bent  towards  me,  and  the  kindly 
eyes  of  old  looked  down  on  mine. 

"  Dear  old  fellow,  the  General  expects  me  at  dawn.  I 
must  leave  you  just  now  ;  say  good-bye." 

His  hand  closed  on  mine,  he  looked  on  me  one  moment 
longer,  a  little  lingeringly,  a  little  wistfully,  then  he 
turned  and  went  out  with  his  guard ;  went  out  into  the 
young  day  that  was  just  breaking  on  the  world. 

I  watched  liis  shadow  as  it  faded,  and  I  saw  that  the 
sun  had  risen  wholly ;  and  I  thought  of  those  who  were 
to  die  with  the  morning  light. 

All  was  very  calm  for  a  while  ;  then  the  beat  of  a  drum 
rolled  through  the  quiet  of  the  dawn,  and  the  measured 
tramp  of  armed  men  sounded  audibly  ;  my  heart  stood 
still,  my  lips  felt  parched,  —  I  knew  the  errand  of  that 
column  marching  so  slowly  across  the  parched  turf  A 
little  while  longer  yet,  and  I  heard  the  sharp  ring  of  the 
ramrods  being  withdrawn,  and  the  dull  echo  of  the  charge 
being  rammed  down :  with  a  single  leap,  as  though  the 
bullets  were  through  me,  1  sprang,  weak  as  I  was,  from 
my  wretched  pallet,  and  staggered  to  the  open  doorway, 
leaning  there  against  the  entrance  powerless  and  spell- 
bound. I  saw  the  file  of  soldiers  loading ;  I  saw  the 
empty  coffin-shells;  I  saw  three  men  standing  bound, 
their  forms  distinct  against  the  clear,  bright  haze  of 
morning,  and  the  fresh  foliage  of  the  woods.  Two  of 
them  were  Virginians,  but  the  third  was  not  Stuart  Lan^ 


DEADLY    DASH.  26S 

With  a  j^reat  cry  I  sprang  forward,  but  the  guards 
seized  uiy  anus  aud  held  me,  helpless  as  a  woman,  in 
their  gripe.  He  whom  we  had  called  Deadly  Dash  heard, 
and  looked  up  and  smiled.  His  face  was  tranquil  and 
full  of  light,  as  though  the  pure  peace  of  the  day  shone 
tliere. 

The  gripe  of  the  sentinels  held  me  as  if  in  fetters  of 
iron  ;  the  world  seemed  to  rock  and  reel  under  me,  a  sea 
of  blood  seemed  eddying  before  my  eyes ;  the  young  day 
was  dawning,  and  murder  was  done  in  its  early  hours, 
and  I  was  held  there  to  look  on,  —  its  witness,  yet  power- 
less to  arrest  it  ^  I  heard  the  formula — so  hideous  then  ! 
— "  Make  ready  ! "  —  "  Present ! "  _  "  Fire ! "  I  saw  the 
long  line  of  steel  tubes  belch  out  their  smoke  and  flame 
I  heard  the  sullen  echo  of  the  report  roll  down  from  the 
mountains  above.  When  the  mist  cleared  away,  the 
three  figures  stood  no  longer  clear  against  the  sunlight ; 
they  had  fallen. 

With  the  mad  violence  of  desperation  I  wrenched  my- 
self from  my  guards,  and  staggered  to  him  where  he  lay  ; 
he  was  not  quite  dead  yet ;  the  balls  had  passed  through 
his  lungs,  but  he  breathed  still ;  his  eyes  were  unclosed, 
and  the  gleam  of  a  last  farewell  came  in  them.  He 
smiled  slightly,  faintly  once  more. 

"She  will  know  how  I  loved  her  now.  Tell  her  I  died 
for  her,"  he  said  softly,  while  his  gaze  looked  upwards  to 
the  golden  sun-rays  rising  in  the  east. 

And  with  these  words  life  passed  away,  the  smile  still 
lingering  gently  on  his  lips;  —  and  I  knew  no  more,  for  I 
fell  like  a  man  stunned  down  by  him  where  he  was 
stretched  beside  the  grave  that  they  had  hewn  for  him 
ere  he  was  yet  dead. 

I  knew  when  I  saw  him  there,  as  well  as  I  knew  b^ 
detail  long  after,  that  he  had  oflered  his  life  for  Stuart 
Lane's,  and  that  it  had  been  accepted;    the  Virginian, 


264  DEADLY    DASH. 

ignorant  of  the  sacrifice  made  for  him,  had  been  sent  to 
the  Southern  lines  during  the  night,  told  by  the  North- 
einers  that  he  was  pardoned  on  his  parole  to  return  in  his 
stead  a  distinguished  Federal  officer  lately  captured  by 
him.  He  knew  nothing,  dreamt  nothing,  of  the  exchange 
by  which  his  life  was  given  back  to  the  woman  who  loved 
him,  Avhen  his  English  Leader  died  in  his  place  as  the  sun 
rose  over  the  fresh  summer  world,  never  again  to  rise  for 
those  whose  death -shot  rang  sullen  and  shrill  through  its 
silence. 

So  Deadly  Dash  died,  and  his  grave  is  nameless  and 
unknown  there  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  Virginian 
forests.  He  was  outlawed,  condemned,  exiled,  and  the 
world  would  see  no  good  in  him ;  sins  were  on  him 
heavily,  and  vices  lay  darkly  at  his  door ;  but  when  I 
think  of  that  grave  in  the  South  where  the  grass  grows  so 
rankly  now,  and  only  the  wild  deer  pauses,  I  doubt  if 
there  was  not  that  in  him  which  may  well  shame  the 
best  amongst  us.  We  never  knew  him  justly  till  he 
perished  there. 

And  my  friend  who  told  me  this  said  no  more,  but  took 
up  his  brule-gueule  regretfully.  The  story  is  given  as  he 
gave  it,  and  the  States  could  whisper  from  the  depths  of 
their  silent  woods  many  tales  of  sacrifice  as  generous,  of 
fortitude  as  great.  That  when  he  had  related  it  he  was 
something  ashamed  of  having  felt  it  so  much,  is  true;  and 
you  must  refer  the  unusual  weakness,  as  he  did,  to  the 
fact  that  he  told  it  on  the  off-day  of  the  Derby,  after 
having  put  a  cracker  on  Wild  Charley.  A  sufficient 
apology  for  any  number  of  frailties ! 


THE  GENERAL'S  MATCH-MAKING- 

OR, 

COACHES  AND  COUSINSHIP. 

[IHERE  the  devil  shall  I  go  this  Long?  Paris 
is  too  hot ;  the  inside  of  my  adorable  ChAteau 
des  Fleurs  would  give  one  a  lively  idea  of  the 
feelings  of  eels  in  a  frying-pan.  Kome  's  only  fit  to  melt 
down  puffy  cardinals,  as  jocks  set  themselves  before  the 
kitchen  fire  preparatory  to  the  Spring  Meetings.  In 
Switzerland  there 's  nothing  fit  to  eat.  Spain  might  be 
the  ticket — the  Andalusians  are  a  good-looking  lot,  but 
they  have  n't  a  notion  of  beer.  Scotland  I  dare  n't  enter, 
because  I  know  I  should  get  married  under  their  rascally 
laws.  I  'd  go  to  the  Bads,  but  the  V.  P.'s  fillies  say  they 
mean  to  do  'em  this  summer,  and  I  won't  risk  meeting 
them  if  I  know  it ;  the  baits  they  set  to  catch  the  unsus- 
pecting are  quite  frightful.     Where  the  devil  shall  I  go  ? 

So  spoke  Sydenham  Morton,  whilom  Captain  of  Eton, 
now,  in  due  course,  having  passed  up  to  Kings,  discussing 
ham-pie  and  audit,  devils  and  coffee,  while  the  June  sun 
streamed  through  the  large  oriel  windows. 

"  To  the  devil,  I  fear,  if  you  only  find  your  proper 
fraternity,"  said  a  man,  coming  in.  Oak  was  never 
sported  by  Sydie,  except  when  he  was  rattling  certain 
little  squares  of  ivory  in  boxes  lined  with  green  felt. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Keane,  is  that  you?     Come  in." 

The  permission  was  needless,  insomuch  as  Keane  was 
already  in  and  down  on  a  rocking-chair. 

23  ( *jor, ) 


266  THE  general's  matcu-makino. 

"One  o'clock,  and  only  just  begun  your  breakfast!  I 
have  finished  more  than  half  my  day's  -work." 

"  I  dare  say,"  answered  Sydie  ;  "  but  one  shining  light 
like  you,  monseigneur,  is  enough  for  a  college.  Why 
should  I  exert  myself?  I  swore  I  had  n't  four  marks  a 
year,  and  I  've  my  fellowship  for  telling  the  furbelow. 
We  all  go  in  for  the  dolce  here  except  you,  and  you  're 
such  a  patent  machine  for  turning  out  Q.E.D.s  by  the 
dozen,  that  you  can  no  more  help  working  than  the  bed- 
maker  can  help  taking  my  tea  and  saying  the  cat  did  it, 
and  '  May  she  never  be  forgiven  if  she  ever  so  much  as 
looked  at  that  there  blessed  lock.'  I  say,  find  a  Q.E.D. 
for  me,  to  the  most  vexatious  problem,  where  I  'm  to  go 
this  Long  ?  " 

"  Go  a  quiet  reading  tour ;  mark  out  a  regular  plan, 
and  travel  somewhere  rugged  and  lonely,  with  not  a 
crinoline,  or  a  trout-stream,  or  a  pack  of  hounds  within  a 
hundred  miles  ;  the  middle  of  Stonehenge,  for  example, 
or  with  the  lighthouse  men  out  at  the  Smalls  or  Eddy- 
stone.     You  'd  do  wonders  when  you  came  back,  Sydie. 

Sydie  shook  his  head  and  puffed  gravely  at  his  pipe. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Cramming 's  not  my  line.  As  for 
history,  I  don't  see  anything  particularly  interesting  in 
the  blackguardisms  of  men  all  dust  and  ashes  and  gela- 
tine now ;  if  I  were  the  Prince  of  Wales,  I  might  think  it 
my  duty  to  inquire  into  the  characters  of  my  grand- 
fathers ;  but  not  being  that  individual,  I  find  the  Derby 
list  much  more  suited  to  my  genius.  As  for  the  classics, 
they  won't  help  me  to  ask  for  my  dinner  at  Tortoni's,  noi 
to  ingratiate  myself  with  the  women  at  the  Maison  Doree; 
and  I  prefer  following  Ovid's  counsels,  and  enjoying  the 
Falernian  of  life  represented  in  these  days  by  milk-punch, 
to  plodding  through  the  De  Orticiis.  As  for  mathematics, 
it  may  be  something  very  grand  to  draw  triangles  and 
circles  till  A  meets  B  because  C  is  as  long  as  D ;  but  I 
know,  when  I  did  the  same  operation  iu  chalk  when  I 


riiE  general's  match-making.  267 

was  a  s. -lall  actor  on  the  nursery  floor,  my  nurse  (who 
might  have  gone  along  with  the  barbarian  who  stuck 
Arcliimedes)  called  me  an  idle  brat.  Well,  I  say,  about 
the  Long  ?  Where  are  you  going,  most  grave  and  reverent 
seignior  ?  " 

"  Where  there  are  no  impertinent  boys,  if  there  be  such 
a  paradise  on  earth,"  rejoined  Keane,  lighting  his  pipe. 
''I  go  to  my  moor,  of  course,  for  the  12th,  but  until  then 
[  have  n't  made  up  my  mind.  I  think  I  shall  scamper 
over  South  America ;  I  want  freshening  up,  and  I  've  a 
great  fancy  to  see  those  buried  cities,  not  to  mention  a 
chance  of  buffalo  hunting." 

"  Travelling  's  such  a  bore,"  interrupted  Sydie,  stretch- 
ing himself  out  like  an  india-rubber  tube.  "  Talk  of  the 
cherub  that 's  always  sitting  up  aloft  to  watch  over  poo** 
Jack,  there  are  always  ten  thousand  demons  watching 
over  the  life  of  any  luckless  ^othen ;  there  are  the 
custom-house  men,  whose  natural  prey  he  becomes,  and 
the  hotel-keepers,  who  fasten  on  him  to  suck  his  life- 
blood,  and  there  are  the  mosquitoes,  and  other  things  less 
minute  but  not  less  agonizing ;  and  there  are  guides  and 
muleteers,  and  waiters  and  ciceroni  —  oh,  hang  it!  travel- 
ling's a  dreadful  bore,  if  it  were  only  for  the  inevitable 
widow  with  four  daughters  whom  you  've  danced  with 
once  at  a  charity  ball,  who  I'ushes  up  to  you  on  tlie 
Boulevards  or  a  Rhine  steamer,  and  tacks  herself  on  to 
you,  and  whom  it 's  well  for  you  if  you  can  shake  off 
when  you  scatter  the  dust  of  the  city  from  the  sole  of 
your  foot." 

"You  can't  chatter,  can  you  ?" 

"Yes;  my  frasnum  was  happily  cut  when  I  was  a  baby. 
Fancy  what  a  loss  the  world  would  have  endured  if  it 
had  n't  been!"  said  Sydie,  lazily  shutting  his  half-closed 
blue  eyes.  "  I  say,  the  governor  has  been  bothering  my 
life  out  to  go  down  to  St.  Crucis ;  he 's  an  old  brick,  you 
know,  and  has  the  pnmest  dry  in  the  kingdom.     I  wIhIi 


268  THE  general's  match-making. 

you'd  come,  will  you?  There's  capital  fishing  and 
cricketing,  and  you  'd  keep  me  company.  Do.  You  shall 
have  the  best  mount  in  the  kingdom,  and  the  General 
will  do  you  no  end  of  good  on  Hippocrate's  rule — con- 
trarieties cure  contrarieties." 

"  I  '11  think  about  it ;  but  you  know  I  prefer  solitude 
generally ;  misanthropical,  I  admit,  but  decidedly  lucky 
for  me,  as  my  companions  through  life  will  always  be  my 
ink-stand,  my  terrier,  and  my  papers.  I  have  never 
wished  for  any  other  yet,  and  I  hope  I  never  shall.  Are 
you  going  to  smoke  and  drink  audit  on  that  sofa  all  day  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Sydie,  "I'm  going  to  take  a  turn  at 
beer  and  Brown's  for  a  change.  Well,  I  shall  take  you 
down  with  me  on  Tuesday,  sir,  so  that 's  settled." 

Keane  laughed,  and  after  some  few  words  on  the  busi- 
ness that  had  brought  him  thither,  went  across  the  quad 
to  his  own  rooms  to  plunge  into  the  intricacies  of  Fourrier 
and  Laplace,  or  give  the  vigor  of  his  brain  to  stuffing 
some  young  goose's  empty  head,  or  cramming  some  idle 
young  dog  with  ballast  enough  to  carry  him  through  the 
shoals  and  quicksands  of  his  Greats. 

Gerald  Keane  was  a  mathematical  Coach,  and  had 
taken  high  honors  —  a  rare  thing  for  a  Kingsman  to  do, 
for  are  they  not,  by  their  own  confession,  the  laziest  dis- 
ciples of  the  dolce  in  the  whole  of  Granta,  invariably 
bumped  and  caught  out,  and  from  sheer  idleness  letting 
other  men  beat  Lord's  and  shame  the  Oxford  Eleven,  and 
graduate  with  Double  Firsts,  while  they  lie  perdus  in  the 
shades  of  Holy  Henry  ?  Keane,  however,  was  the  one  ex- 
ception to  the  rule.  He  was  dreadfully  wild,  as  ladies 
say,  for  his  first  term  or  two,  tliough  equally  eloquent  at 
the  Union ;  then  his  family  exulting  in  the  accuracies  of 
their  prophecies  regarding  his  worth lessness,  and  some- 
body else  daring  him  to  go  in  for  honors,  his  pluck  was 
put  up,  and  he  set  himself  to  work  to  show  them  all  what 
he  could  do  if  he  chose.     Once  roused  to  put  out  his  pow- 


THE  general's   MATCII-MAKINO.  269 

ers,  he  liked  using  them  ;  the  bother  of  the  training  over, 
it  is  no  trouble  to  keep  place  as  stroke-oar ;  and  now  men 
pointed  him  out  in  the  Senate  House,  and  at  the  Senio.' 
Fellows'  table,  and  he  bid  fair  to  rank  with  the  writer  on 
Jasher  and  the  author  of  the  Inductive  Sciences. 

People  called  him  very  cold.  It  was  popularly  averred 
that  he  had  no  more  feeling  than  Eoubilliac's  or  Thor- 
Avaldsen's  statues  ;  but  as  he  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
under-grads,  and  always  good-natured  to  them,  there  were 
a  few  men  who  doubted  the  theory,  though  he  never  tried 
to  refute  or  dispute  it. 

Of  all  the  young  fellows,  the  one  Keane  liked  the  best, 
and  to  whom  he  was  kindest,  was  Sydenham  Morton  — 
Sydie  to  everybody  in  Granta,  from  the  little  fleuriste  op- 
posite in  King's  Parade,  to  the  V.  P.'s  wife,  who  petted 
him  because  his  uncle  was  a  millionnaire — the  dearest 
fellow  in  the  world,  according  to  all  the  Cambridge  young 
ladies  — the  darling  of  all  the  milliner  and  confectioner 
girls  in  Trumpington  Street  and  Petty  Cury — the  best 
chap  going  among  the  kindred  spirits,  who  got  gated,  and 
lectured,  and  rusticated  for  skying  over  to  Newmarket,  or 
pommelling  bargees,  or  taking  a  lark  over  at  Cherryhiu- 
ton — the  best-dressed,  fastest,  and  most  charming  of  Can- 
tabs,  as  he  himself  would  gravely  assure  you. 

They  were  totally  dissimilar,  and  far  asunder  in  posi- 
tion ;  but  an  affair  on  the  slope  of  the  Matterhorn,  when 
the  boy  had  saved  the  elder  man's  life,  had  riveted  attach- 
ment between  them,  and  bridged  over  the  difference  of 
their  academical  rank. 

The  Commencement  came  and  went,  with  its  speeches, 
and  its  II.Ii.H.  Chancellor,  and  its  pretty  women  gliding 
among  the  elms  of  Neville's  Court  (poor  Leslie  Ellis's 
daily  haunt),  filling  the  grim  benches  of  the  Senate 
House,  and  flitting  past  the  carved  benches  of  King's 
Chapel.  Granta  was  henceforth  a  desert  to  all  Cambridge 
belles ;  they  could  walk  down  Trumpington  Street  without 
2:^* 


270  THE  general's  match-making. 

meeting  a  score  of  little  straw  hats,  and  Trumping./ 
Street  became  as  odious  as  Sahara  ;  the  "  darling  Backs 
were  free  to  them,  and,  of  course,  they  who,  by  all  rela 
tions,  from  those  of  Genesis  to  those  of  Vanity  Fair,  have 
n(!ver  cared,  save  for  fruit  dejendu,  saw  nothing  to  admire 
in  the  trees,  and  grass,  and  river,  minus  outriggers  and 
collegians.  There  was  a  general  exodus :  Masters'  red 
hoods,  Fellows  Commoners'  gold-lace.  Fellows'  gown  and 
mortar  boards,  morning  chapel  surplices,  and  under-grads' 
straw-hats  and  cutaAvay  coats,  all  vanished  from  court  and 
library,  street  and  cloister.  Cambridge  was  empty  ;  the 
married  Dons  and  their  families  went  off  to  country- 
houses  or  Rhine  steamers;  Fellows  went  touring  with 
views  to  mediceval  architecture,  Roman  remains,  Greek 
inscriptions,  Paris  laisser  aller,  or  Norwegian  fishing,  ac- 
cording to  their  tastes  and  habits  ;  under-grads  scattered 
themselves  over  the  face  of  the  globe,  and  were  to  be 
found  in  knots  of  two  or  three  calling  for  stout  in  Ve- 
four's,  kicking  up  a  row  with  Austrian  gendarmerie, 
chalking  up  effigies  of  Bomba  on  Italian  walls,  striding 
up  every  mountain  from  Skiddaw  to  the  Pic  du  Midi, 
burrowing  like  rabbits  in  a  warren  for  reading  purposes 
on  Dartmoor,  kissing  sunny-haired  Gretchens  in  German 
hostelries,  swinging  through  the  Vaterland  with  knap- 
sacks and  sticks,  doing  a  walking  tour — in  fact,  swarm- 
ing everywhere  with  their  impossible  French  and  hearty 
voices,  and  lithe  English  muscle,  Granta  marked  on  them 
as  distinctly  as  an  M.B.  waistcoat  marks  an  Anglican,  or 
utter  ignorance  of  modern  politics  a  "  great  classic." 

Cambridge  had  emptied  itself  of  the  scores  of  naughty 
boys  that  lie  in  the  arms  of  Mater,  and  on  Tuesday  Keano 
and  Sydie  were  shaking  and  rattling  over  those  dreadful 
nervous  Eastern  Counties  tenders,  through  that  picturesque 
and  beautiful  country  that  does  permutations  with  such 
laudable  perseverance  on  pollards,  feus,  and  flats  —  flats, 


THE  general's  match-making.  271 

fens,  and  pollards  —  at  the  snail's  pace  that,  according  to 
the  E.G.R.,  we  must  believe  to  be  "  express." 

"  I  wrote  and  told  the  governor  you  were  coming  down 
with  me,  sir,"  said  Sydie,  hanging  up  his  hat.  "  I  did  n't 
tell  liim  what  a  trouble  I  had  to  make  you  throw  over 
South  America  for  a  fortnight,  and  come  and  taste  hia 
curry  at  the  Beeches.  You  '11  like  the  old  boy  ;  lie 's  as 
hot  and  choleric,  and  as  genial  and  good-hearted,  as  any 
old  brick  that  ever  walked.  He  was  born  as  sweet-tem- 
pered and  soft-mouthed  as  mamma  when  an  eldest  son 
waltzes  twice  with  Adeliza,  and  the  pepper  *s  been  put  into 
him  by  the  curry-powder,  the  gentlemanlike  transportation, 
and  the  unlimited  command  over  black  devils,  enjoyed  by 
gentlemen  of  the  H.E.I.C.S." 

"  A  nabob  uncle,"  thought  Keane.  "  Oh,  I  see,  yellow, 
dyspeptic,  always  boring  one  with  '  How  to  govern  India,' 
and  recollections  of  '  When  I  served  with  Napier.'  What 
a  fool  I  was  to  let  Sydie  persuade  me  to  go.  A  month  in 
Lima  and  the  Pampas  would  be  much  pleasanter." 

"  He  came  over  last  year,"  continued  Sydie,  in  blissful 
ignorance,  "  and  bought  the  Beeches,  a  very  jolly  place, 
only  he 's  crammed  it  with  everything  anybody  suggested, 
and  tried  anything  that  any  farmer  recommended,  so 
that  the  house  and  the  estate  present  a  peculiar  compen- 
dium of  all  theories  of  architecture,  and  a  general  exhi- 
bition of  all  sorts  of  tastes.  He 's  his  hobbies  ;  pouncing 
on  and  apprehending  small  boys  is  one  of  'em,  for  which 
practice  he  is  endeared  to  the  youth  of  St.  Crucis  as  the 
*  old  cove,'  the  '  Injian  devil,'  and  like  afl'ectionate  cogno- 
mens. But  the  General's  weak  point  is  me — me  and 
little  Fay." 

"  His  mare,  I  suppose?" 

"His  mare!  — l)le.ss  my  heart,  no!  —  his  mare!"  And 
Sydie  lay  back,  and  laughed  silently.  "  His  mare !  By 
George  !  what  would  she  say  ?  She 's  a  good  deal  too 
lively  a  young  lady  to  run  in  harness  for  anybody,  though 


272  TUE    general's    MATCH-MAKTNa. 

she 's  soft-mouthed  enough  when  she  's  led.  Mare  !  No, 
Fay's  his  niece — my  cousin.  Her  father  and  my  father 
went  to  glory  when  we  were  both  smalls,  and  left  us  in 
legacy  to  the  General,  and  a  pretty  pot  of  money  the 
legacy  has  cost  him." 

"  Your  cousin,  indeed  !  The  name 's  more  like  a  mare's 
than  a  girl's,"  answered  Keane,  thinking  to  himself.  "A 
cousin  !  I  just  wish  I  'd  known  that.  One  of  those  Indian 
girls,  I  bet,  tanned  brown  as  a  berry,  flirts  k  outrance,  has 
run  the  gauntlet  of  all  the  Calcutta  balls,  been  engaged 
to  men  in  all  the  Arms,  talks  horridly  broad  Anglo-In- 
dian-English.    I  know  the  style." 

The  engine  screamed,  and  pulled  up  at  the  St.  Crucis 
station,  some  seventy  miles  farther  on,  lying  in  the  midst 
of  Creswickian  landscapes,  with  woodlands,  and  cottages, 
and  sweet  fresh  stretches  of  meadow-land,  such  as  do  one's 
heart  good  after  hard  days  and  late  nights  in  dust  and 
gaslight. 

"  Deuced  fine  points,"  said  Sydie,  taking  the  ribbons  of 
a  high-stepping  bay  that  had  brought  one  of  the  neatest 
possible  traps  to  take  him  and  Keane  to  the  Beeches,  and 
springing,  in  all  his  glory,  to  the  box,  than  which  no  im- 
perial throne  could  have  offered  to  him  one-half  so  de- 
lightful a  seat.  "  Governor  never  keeps  screws.  What 
a  crying  shame  we  're  not  allowed  to  keep  the  sorriest 
hack  at  King's.  That  comes  of  gentlemen  slipping  into 
shoes  that  were  meant  for  beggars.  Hallo,  there  are  the 
old  beech-trees ;  I  vow  I  can  almost  taste  the  curry  and 
dry  from  looking  at  them." 

In  dashed  the  bay  through  the  park-gates,  sending  the 
shingle  flying  up  in  sma)l  simoons,  and  the  rooks  cawing 
in  supreme  surprise  from  their  nests  in  the  branches  of 
the  beech-trees. 

"  Hallo,  my  ancient,  how  are  you  ?"  began  Sydie  to  the 
butler,  while  that  stately  person  expanded  into  a  smih;  of 
welcome.     "  Down,  dog,  down !     Ton  my  life,  the  old 


THE  general's   MATCII-M akinq.  273 

place  looks  very  jolly.  What  have  you  hung  all  that 
arraoi  up  for;  —  to  make  believe  our  ancestors  dwelt  in 
these  marble  halls  ?  How  devilish  dusty  I  am.  Where  's 
the  General  ?  Did  n't  know  we  were  coming  till  next 
train.  Fay !  Fay  !  where  are  you  ?  Ashtou,  where  'k 
Miss  Morton  ?  " 

"  Here,  Sydie  dear,"  cried  the  young  lady  in  question, 
rushing  across  the  hall  with  the  most  ecstatic  deliglit, 
and  throwing  herself  into  the  Cantab's  arms,  v/lio  re- 
ceived her  with  no  less  cordiality,  and  kissed  her  straight- 
way, regardless  of  the  presence  of  Keane,  the  butler,  and 
Harris. 

"  Oh,  Sydie,"  began  the  young  lady,  breathlessly,  "  I  'm 
so  delighted  you  're  come.  There 's  the  archery  fete,  and 
a  picnic  at  Shallowton,  and  an  election  ball  over  at 
Coverdale,  and  I  -want  you  to  dance  v/ith  me,  and  to  try 
the  new  billiard-table,  and  to  come  and  see  my  aviary, 
and  to  teach  me  pistol-shooting  (because  Julia  Dupuis 
can  shoot  splendidly,  and  talks  of  joining  the  Rifles),  and 
to  show  me  how  to  do  Euclid,  and  to  amuse  me,  and  to 
play  with  me,  and  to  tell  me  which  is  the  prettiest  of 

Snowdrop's  pups  to  be  saved,  and  to "     She  stopped 

suddenly,  and  dropped  from  enthusiastic  tirade  to  sub- 
dued surprise,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Keane  for  the  first 
time.  "  Oh,  Sydie,  why  did  you  not  introduce  me  to  your 
friend  ?     How  rude  I  have  been  ! " 

"Mr.  Keane,  my  cousin,  the  torment  of  my  existence, 
Miss  Morton  in  public.  Little  Fay  in  private  life.  There, 
you  know  one  another  now.  I  can't  say  any  more.  Do 
tell  me  where  the  governor  is." 

"Mr.  Keane,  what  can  you  think  of  me?"  cried  Fay. 
"  Any  friend  of  Sydenham's  is  most  welcome  to  the 
Beeches,  and  my  uncle  will  scold  me  frightfully  for  giving 
you  such  a  reception.  Please  do  forgive  me,  I  was  so 
delighted  to  see  my  cousin." 

"  Which  I  can  fully  enter  into,  having  a  weakness  for 
S 


2Y4  niE  general's  match  making. 

Sydie  myself,"  smiled  Keane.  "  I  am  sure  he  is  very 
fortunate  in  being  the  cause  of  such  au  excuse." 

Keane  said  it  par  complaisance,  but  rather  carelessly ; 
young  ladies,  as  a  class,  being  one  of  his  aversions.  He 
looked  at  Fay  Morton,  however,  and  saw  she  was  not  an 
Indianized  girl  after  all.  She  was  not  yellow,  but,  au 
contraire,  had  waving  fair  hair,  long  dark  eyes,  and  a 
mischievous,  sunny  face  — 

A  rosebud  set  with  little  wilful  thorns, 
And  sweet  as  English  air  could  make  her. 

"Where's  the  governt)r,  Fay?"  reiterated  Sydie. 

"  Here,  my  dear  boy.  Thought  of  your  old  uncle  the 
first  thing,  Sydie  ?  God  bless  my  soul,  how  well  you  look ! 
Confound  you,  wdiy  did  n't  you  tell  me  -what  train  you 
were  coming  by  ?  Devil  take  you,  Ashton,  why  's  there 
no  fire  in  the  hall?  Thought  it  was  warm,  did  you? 
Hum!  more  fool  you  then." 

"  Uncle  dear,"  said  Miss  Fay,  "  here  is  Sydie's  friend, 
Mr.  Keane ;  you  are  being  as  rude  as  I  have  been." 

The  General,  at  this  conjuration,  swung  sharp  round, 
a  stout,  hale,  handsome  old  fellow,  with  gray  moustaches 
and  a  high  color,  holding  a  spade  in  his  hand  and  clad  in 
a  linen  coat. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  sir,"  cried  the  General,  shaking  Keane's 
hand  with  the  greatest  possible  energy,  "  charmed  to  see 
you  —  delighted,  'pon  my  honor ;  only  hope  you  're  come 
to  stay  till  Christmas  ;  there  are  plenty  of  bachelors'  dens. 
Devil  take  me !  of  what  was  I  thinking  ?  I  was  pleased 
to  see  that  boy,  I  suppose.  More  fool  I,  you  '11  say,  a 
lazy,  good-for-nothing  young  dog  like  him.  Don't  let  me 
keep  you  standing  in  the  hall.  Cursed  cold,  is  n't  it  ?  and 
there 's  Little  Fay  in  muslin !     Ashton,  send  some  hot 

water  into  the  west  room  for  Mr.  —  Mr. Confound 

you,  Sydie,  why  didn't  you  tell  —  I  mean  introduce  mc? 
—  Mr.  Keane.     Luncheon   will   be  on   the  table  in  ten 


THE  general's  match-making.  275 

minutes.  Like  curry,  Mr.  Keane?  There,  get  along, 
Sydie,  you  foolish  boy ;  you  can  talk  to  Fay  after 
luncheon." 

"  vSydie,"  whispered  Fay,  an  hour  before  dinner,  when 
she  had  teased  the  Cantab's  life  out  of  him  till  he  had 
consented  to  pronounce  judgment  on  the  puppies,  "  what 
a  splendid  head  that  man  has  you  brought  with  you  ; 
he  'd  do  for  Plato,  with  that  grand  calm  brow  and  lofty 
unapproachable  look.     Who  is  he?" 

"  The  greatest  philosopher  of  modern  times,"  responded 
her  cousin,  solemnly.  "  A  condensation  of  Solon,  Thales, 
Plutarch,  Seneca,  Cicero,  Lucullus,  Bion,  Theophrastes, 
and  Co. ;  such  a  giant  of  mathematical  knowledge,  and 
all  other  knowledge,  too,  that  every  day,  when  he  passes 
under  Bacon's  Gate,  we  are  afraid  the  old  legend  will 
come  to  pass,  and  it  will  tumble  down  as  flat  as  a  pan- 
cake ;  a  homage  to  him,  but  a  loss  to  Cambridge." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Miss  Fay,  impatiently.  "  (I  like  that 
sweet  little  thing  wdth  the  black  nose  best,  dear.)  Who 
is  he?  What  is  he?  How  old  is  he?  What 's  his  name? 
Where  does  he  live?" 

"  Gently,  young  woman,"  cried  Sydie.  "  He  is  Tutor 
and  Fellow  of  King's,  and  a  great  gun  besides ;  he 's 
some  twenty-five  years  older  than  you.  His  name  on  the 
rolls  is  Gerald,  I  believe,  and  he  dwells  in  the  shadow  of 
Mater,  beyond  the  reach  of  my  coruet ;  for  which  fact, 
not  being  musically  inclined,  he  is  barbarian  enough  to 
return  thanks  daily  in  chapel." 

"  I  am  sorry  he  is  come.  It  was  stupid  of  you  to  bring 
him." 

"Wherefore,  ma  cousinef  Are  you  afraid  of  him? 
You  need  n't  be.  Young  ladies  are  too  iusigniiicant 
atoms  of  creation  for  him  to  criticise.  He  '11  no  more 
expect  sense  from  you  than  from  Snowdrop  and  hci 
pups." 

"Afraid!"   repeated  Fay,  with  extreme    indignation. 


276  THE  geneual's  matcii-makino. 

"  I  should  like  to  sec  any  man  of  whom  I  should  feel 
afraid !  If  he  does  n't  like  fun  and  nonsense,  I  pity 
him  ;  but  if  he  despise  me  evei'  so  much  for  it,  I  shall 
enjoy  myself  before  him,  and  in  spite  of  him.  I  was 
Borry  you  brought  him,  because  he  will  take  you  away 
when  I  want  you  all  to  myself;  and  he  looks  so  haughty, 
that " 

"  You  are  afraid  of  him,  Fay,  and  won't  own  it." 

"  I  am  not,"  reiterated  Fay,  impetuously  ;  "  and  I  will 
tsmoke  a  cigar  with  him  after  dinner,  to  show  you  I  am 
not  one  bit." 

"  I  bet  you  six  pair  of  gloves  you  do  no  such  thing, 
young  lady." 

"  Done.  Do  keep  the  one  with  a  black  nose,  Sydie ; 
and  yet  that  little  liver-colored  darling  is  too  pretty  to  be 
killed.  Suppose  we  save  them  all?  Snowdrop  will  be 
so  pleased." 

Whereon  Fay  kissed  all  the  little  snub  noses  with  the 
deepest  affection,  and  was  caught  in  the  act  by  Keanc  and 
the  General. 

"  There  's  that  child  with  her  arms  full  of  dogs,"  said 
the  General,  beaming  with  satisfaction  at  sight  of  his 
niece.  "  She  's  a  little,  spoilt,  wilful  thing.  She  's  an  old 
bachelor's  pet,  and  you  must  make  allowances.  I  call 
her  the  fairy  of  the  Beeches,  God  bless  her !  She  nursed 
me  last  winter,  when  I  was  at  death's  door  from  these 
cursed  cold  winds,  sir,  better  than  Miss  Nightingale 
could  have  done.  What  a  devilish  climate  it  is ;  never 
two  days  alike.  I  don't  wonder  Englishwomen  are  such 
icicles,  poor  things  ;  they  're  frostbitten  from  their  cradle 
upwards." 

"India  warms  them  up,  General,  doesn't  it?" 

The  General  shook  with  laughter. 

"To  be  sui-e,  to  be  sure;  if  prudery's  the  fashion, 
they  '11  wear  it,  sir,  as  they  Avould  patches  or  hair-powder; 
but  they  're  always  uncommonly  glad  to  leave  it  off  and 


THE   general's    MATCII-MAKTNG.  277 

lock  it  out  of  sight  when  they  can.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  kennels  ?  I  say,  Sydie,  confound  you,  why  did  you 
bring  down  any  traps  with  you  ?  Have  n't  room  for  'era  , 
not  for  one.  Could  n't  cram  a  tilbury  into  the  coach- 
house." 

"  A  trap,  governor  ?"  said  Sydie,  straightening  his  back 
after  examination  of  the  pups ;  "  can't  keep  even  a  wall- 
eyed cab-horse  ;  wish  I  could." 

"  Where's  your  drag,  then?"  demanded  the  General. 

"My  drag?  Don't  I  just  wish  I  had  one,  to  offer  my 
bosom  friend  the  V.  P.  a  seat  on  the  box.  Calvert,  of 
Trinity,  tooled  us  over  in  his  to  the  Spring  Meetings,  and 
his  grays  are  the  sweetest  pair  of  goers  —  the  leaders  espe- 
cially—  that  ever  you  saw  in  harness.  We  came  back 
'cross  country,  to  get  in  time  for  hall,  and  a  pretty  mess 
we  made  of  it,  for  we  broke  the  axle,  and  lamed  the  off- 
wheeler,  and " 

"  But,  God  bless  my  soul,"  stormed  the  General,  excited 
beyond  measure,  "  you  wrote  me  word  you  were  going  to 
bring  a  drag  down  with  you,  and  of  course  I  supposed 
you  meant  what  you  said,  and  I  had  Harris  in  about  it, 
and  he  swore  the  coach-house  was  as  full  of  traps  as  ever 
it  could  hold,  so  I  had  my  tax-cart  and  Fay's  phaeton 
turned  into  one  of  the  stalls,  and  then,  after  all,  it  comes 
out  you  've  never  brought  it !  Devil  take  you,  Sydie,  why 
can't  you  be  more  thoughtful " 

"  But,  my  dear  governor " 

"Nonsense;  don't  talk  to  me!"  cried  the  General,  try- 
ing to  work  himself  into  a  passion,  and  diving  into  the 
recesses  of  six  separate  pockets  one  after  another.  "  Look 
here,  sir,  I  suppose  you  '11  believe  your  own  words  ?  Here 
it  is  in  black  and  white.  —  'P.  S.  I  shall  bring  vxy  Coach 
down  with  me.'  There,  what  do  you  say  now  ?  Con- 
found you,  what  are  you  laughing  at  ?  /  don't  see  any- 
thing to  laugh  at.  In  my  day,  young  fellows  did  n't 
make  fools  of  old  men  in  this  way.  Bless  my  soul,  why 
24 


278  THE    GENERAL'S    MATCH-MAKING. 

the  de\il  Jon't  you  leave  off  laughing,  and  talk  a  little 
common  sense  ?  The  thing 's  plain  enough.  — '  P.  S.  / 
shall  bring  my  Coach  doivn  with  me.'  " 

"  So  I  have,"  said  Sydie,  screaming  with  laughter. 
"  Look  at  him  —  he 's  a  first-rate  Coach,  too  !  Wheels 
always  oiled,  and  ready  for  any  road ;  always  going  up 
hill,  and  never  caught  coming  down ;  started  at  a  devil 
of  a  pace,  and  now  keeps  ahead  of  all  other  vehicles  on 
all  highways.  A  first-class  Coach,  that  will  tool  me 
through  the  tortuous  lanes  and  treacherous  pitfalls  of  the 
Greats  with  flying  colors.  My  Coach  !  Bravo,  General ! 
that 's  the  best  bit  of  fun  I  've  had  since  I  dressed  up  like 
Sophonisba  Briggs,  and  led  the  V.  P.  a  dance  all  round 
the  quad,  every  hair  on  his  head  standing  erect  in  his 
virtuous  indignation  at  the  awful  morals  of  his  college." 

"Eh,  what?"  grunted  the  General,  light  beginning  to 
dawn  upon  him.  "  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Keane  ?  Hum ! 
how 's  one  to  be  up  to  all  your  confounded  slang  ?  How 
could  I  know?  Devil  take  you,  Sydie,  why  can't  you 
write  common  English  ?  You  young  fellows  talk  as  bad 
jargon  as  Sepoys.  You  're  sure  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Keane,  though  I  did  make  the  mistake." 

"  Thank  you,  General,"  said  Keane ;  "  but  it 's  rather 
cool  of  you.  Master  Sydie,  to  have  forced  me  on  to  your 
uncle's  hands  without  his  wish  or  his  leave." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  swore  the  General,  with  vehe- 
ment cordiality.  *'  I  gave  him  carte  blanche  to  ask  whom 
he  would,  and  unexpected  guests  are  always  most  wel- 
come ;  not  that  you  were  unexpected  though,  for  I  'd  told 
tliat  boy  to  be  su  .'e  and  bring  somebody  down  here " 

"  And  have  had  the  tax-cart  and  my  phaeton  turned 
out  to  make  comfortable  quarters  for  him,"  said  Miss 
Fay,  with  a  glance  at  The  Coach  to  see  how  he  took 
chaff,  "  and  I  only  hope  Mr.  Keane  mav  like  his  accom- 
modation." 

"  Perhaps,  Miss  Morton,"  said  Keane,  smiling,  "  I  shall 


THE    general's     MATCH-MAKING.  279 

like  it  so  well  that  you  will  have  to  say  to  me  as  poor 
Voltaire  to  his  troublesome  abbe,  '  Don  Quichotte  prenait 
les  auberges  pour  les  chdteaux,  mais  vous  avez  pris  les 
chateaux  pour  les  auberges.'  " 

"  Tiresome  man,"  thought  Fay.  "  I  wish  Sydie  had  n't 
brought  him  here ;  but  I  shall  do  as  I  always  do,  however 
grand  and  supercilious  he  may  look.  He  has  lived 
among  all  those  men  and  books  till  he  has  grown  as  cold 
as  granite.  "What  a  pity  it  is  people  don't  enjoy  exist- 
ence as  I  do!" 

"  You  are  thinking,  Miss  Morton,"  said  Keane,  as  he 
walked  on  beside  her,  with  an  amused  glance  at  her  face, 
which  was  expressive  enough  of  her  thoughts,  "  that  if 
your  uncle  is  glad  to  see  me,  you  are  not,  and  that  Sydie 
was  very  stupid  not  to  bring  down  one  of  his  kindred 

spirits  instead  of Don't  disclaim  it  now;  you  should 

veil  your  face  if  you  wish  your  thoughts  not  to  be  read." 

"  I  was  not  going  to  disclaim  it,"  said  Fay,  quickly 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  rapid  glance,  half  penitence, 
half  irritation.  "  I  always  tell  the  truth  ;  but  I  was  7iot 
thinking  exactly  that ;  I  don't  want  any  of  Sydie's 
friends — I  detest  boys — but  I  certainly  teas  thinking 
that  as  you  look  down  on  everything  that  we  all  delight 
in,  I  fancied  you  and  the  Beeches  will  hardly  agree.  If 
I  am  rude,  you  must  not  be  angry  ;  you  wanted  me  to  tell 
you  the  truth." 

Keane  smiled  again. 

"  Do  I  look  down  on  the  things  you  delight  in  ?  1 
hardly  know  enough  of  you,  as  we  have  only  addressed 
about  six  syllables  to  each  other,  to  be  able  to  judge  what 
you  like  and  what  you  don't  like ;  but  certainly  I  must 
admit,  that  caressing  the  little  round  heads  of  those  pup- 
pies yonder,  which  seemed  to  aflord  you  such  extreme 
rapture,  would  not  be  any  source  of  remarkable  gratifica- 
tion to  me." 

Fay  looked  up  at  him  and  laughed. 


280  THE  general's  match-making. 

"  Well,  I  am  fond  of  animals  as  you  are  fond  of  books. 
Is  it  not  an  open  question  whether  the  live  dog  or  sheep- 
skin is  not  as  good  as  the  dead  Morocco  or  Russian 
leather?" 

"  Is  it  an  open  question,  whether  Macaulay's  or  Arago'a 
brain  weighs  no  more  than  a  cat's  or  a  puppy's  ? " 

"  Brain  ! "  said  impudent  little  Fay  ;  "  are  your  great 
men  always  as  honest  and  as  faithful  as  my  poor  little 
Snowdrop  ?  I  have  an  idea  that  Sheridan's  brains  were 
often  obscured  by  brandy  ;  that  Riclielieu  had  the  Aveak- 
ness  to  be  prouder  of  his  bad  poems  than  his  magnificenr. 
policies ;  and  that  Pope  and  Byron  had  the  folly  to  be 
more  tenacious  of  a  glance  at  their  physical  defect  than 
an  onslaught  on  their  noblest  works.  I  could  mention  a 
good  many  other  instances  where  brain  was  not  always  a 
voucher  for  corresponding  strength  of  character." 

Keane  was  surprised  to  hear  a  sensible  speech  from  this 
volatile  little  puss,  and  honored  her  by  answering  her 
seriously. 

"  Say,  rather,  Miss  Morton,  that  those  to  whom  many 
temptations  fall  should  have  many  excuses  made.  Where 
the  brain  preponderates,  excelling  in  creative  faculty  and 
rapid  thought,  there  will  the  sensibilities  be  proportion- 
ately acute.  The  vivacity  and  vigorous  life  which  pro- 
duced the  rapid  flow  of  Sheridan's  eloquence  led  him  into 
the  dissipation  which  made  him  end  his  days  in  a  spung- 
ing-house.  Men  of  cooler  minds  and  natures  must  not 
presume  to  judge  him.  They  had  not  his  temptation ; 
they  cannot  judge  of  his  fault.  Richelieu,  in  all  proba- 
bility, amused  himself  with  his  verses  as  he  amused 
himself  with  his  white  kitten  and  its  cork,  as  a  delasse- 
ment;  had  he  piqued  himself  upon  his  poetry,  as  they  say, 
he  would  have  turned  poetaster  instead  of  politician.  As 
for  the  other  two,  you  must  remember  that  Pope's  deform- 
ity made  him  a  subject  of  ridicule  to  the  woman  he  was 
fool  enough  to  worship,  and  Byron,  poor  fellow,  was  over- 


THE   general's    MATCII-MAKTNO.  28« 

susceptible  on  all  points,  or  he  would  scarcely  have 
allowed  the  venonied  arrows  from  the  Scotch  Reviewers 
to  Avound  him,  nor  would  he  have  cared  for  the  desertion 
of  a  wife  who  was  to  him  like  ice  to  fire.  When  you  are 
older,  you  will  learn  that  it  is  very  dangerous  and  unjust 
to  say  this  thing  is  right,  that  wrong,  that  feeling  wise,  or 
this  foolish ;  for  all  temperaments  are  different,  and  the 
same  circumstances  may  produce  very  different  effects. 
Your  puppies  will  grow  up  with  dissimilar  characters ; 
how  much  more  so,  then,  must  men?" 

Miss  Fay  was  quiet  for  a  minute,  then  she  flashed  her 
mischievous  eyes  on  him. 

"  Certainly ;  but  then,  by  your  own  admission,  you 
have  no  right  to  decide  that  your  love  for  mathematics  is 
wise,  and  my  love  for  Snowdrop  foolish ;  it  may  be  quite 
au  contraire.  Perhaps,  after  all,  I  may  have  *  chosen  the 
better  part.'" 

"Fay,  go  in  and  dress  for  dinner,"  interrupted  the 
General,  trotting  up  ;  "  your  tongue  would  run  on  forever 
if  nobody  stopped  it ;  you  're  no  exception  to  your  sex  on 
that  point.     Is  she?" 

Keane  laughed. 

"Perhaps  Miss  Morton's  frsenum,  like  Sydie's,  was  cut 
too  far  in  her  infancy,  and  therefore  she  has  been  '  un- 
bridled'ever  since." 

"  In  all  things ! "  cried  little  Fay.  "  Nobody  has  put 
the  curb  on  me  yet,  and  nobody  ever  shall." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  Fay,"  cried  Sydie.  "  Rarey  does 
wonders  with  the  wildest  fdlies.  Somebody  may  bring 
you  down  on  your  knees  yet." 

"You'll  have  to  see  to  that,  Sydie,"  laughed  the 
General.  "  Come,  get  along,  child,  to  your  toilette.  I 
never  have  my  soup  cold  and  my  curry  overdone.  To 
wait  for  his  dinner  is  a  stretch  of  good  nature,  and 
patience  that  ought  not  to  be  expected  of  any  man." 

The  soup  was  not  cold  nor  the  curry  overdone,  and  the 
24* 


282  THE    general's    MATCII-MAKINa. 

dinner  was  pleasant  enough,  in  the  long  dining-room,  with 
the  June  sun  streaming  in  through  its  bay-windows  from 
out  the  brilliant-colored  garden,  and  the  walls  echoing 
with  the  laughter  of  Sydie  and  his  cousin,  the  young  lady 
keeping  true  to  her  avowal  of  "not  caring  for  Plato's 
presence."  "Plato,"  however,  listened  quietly,  peeling 
his  peaches  with  tranquil  amusement ;  for  if  the  girl 
talked  nonsense,  it  was  clever  nonsense,  as  rare,  by  the 
way,  and  quite  as  refreshing  as  true  wit. 

"  My  gloves  are  safe ;  you  're  too  afraid  of  him.  Fay," 
whispered  Sydie,  bending  forwards  to  give  her  some  haut- 
boys. 

"Am  I?"  cried  Miss  Fay,  with  a  mowe  of  supreme  con- 
tempt. Neither  the  whisper  nor  the  moue  escaped  Keane, 
as  he  talked  with  the  governor  on  model  drainage. 

"  Where 's  my  hookah,  Fay  ?"  asked  the  General,  after 
dessert.     "  Get  it,  will  you,  my  pet?" 

"  Voila !  "  cried  Miss  Fay,  lifting  the  narghile  from  the 
sideboard.  Then  taking  some  cigars  off  the  mantelpiece, 
she  put  one  in  her  own  mouth,  struck  a  fusee,  and,  hand- 
ing the  case  to  Keane,  said,  with  a  saucy  smile  in  her 
Boft  bright  eyes,  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  a  little 
bit  afraid  of  taking  liberties  with  him : 

"  If  you  are  not  above  such  a  sublunary  indulgence, 
will  you  have  a  cigar  with  me?" 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  said  Keane,  with  a  grave 
bow;  "and  if  you  would  like  to  further  rival  George 
Sand,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  give  you  the  address  of 
my  tailor." 

"  Thank  you  exceedingly ;  but  as  long  as  crinoline  is 
the  type  of  the  sex  that  are  a  little  lower  than  the  angels, 
and  ribbon-ties  the  seal  of  those  but  a  trifle  better  than 
Mephistopheles,  I  don't  think  I  will  change  it,"  responded 
Little  Fay,  contemptuously,  as  she  threw  herself  down  on 
a  couch  with  an  indignant  defiant  glance,  and  puffed  at 
her  Manilla." 


THE  general's  match-making.  283 

■  "  I  hate  him,  Sydie,"  said  tlie  little  Itidy,  vehemently, 
that  night. 

"Do  you,  dear?"  answered  the  Cantab;  "you  see, 
you  've  never  had  anybody  to  be  afraid  of,  or  had  any 
man  neglect  you  before." 

"  He  may  neglect  me  if  he  please,  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
care,"  rejoined  Fay, disdainfully  ;  "only  I  do  wish, Sydie, 
that  you  had  never  brought  him  here  to  make  us  all 
uncomfortable." 

"  He  don't  make  me  uncomfortable,  quite  otherwise ; 
nor  yet  the  governor ;  you  're  the  only  victim,  Fay." 

Fay  saw  little  enough  of  Keane  for  the  next  week  or 
two.  He  was  out  all  day  with  Sydie  trout-fishing,  or 
walking  over  his  farms  with  the  General,  or  sitting  in  the 
study  reading,  and  writing  his  articles  for  the  Cambridge 
Journal,  Leo7iville's  Mathematical  Journal,  or  the  Westinin- 
ster  Review.  But  when  she  was  with  him,  there  was  no 
mischief  within  her  reach  that  Miss  Fay  did  not  perpe- 
trate, Keane,  to  tease  her,  would  condemn — so  seriously 
that  she  believed  him — all  that  she  loved  the  best;  he 
would  tell  her  that  ho  admired  quiet,  domestic  women ; 
that  he  thought  girls  should  be  very  subdued  and  retiring; 
that  they  should  work  well,  and  not  care  much  for 
society ;  at  all  of  which,  being  her  extreme  antipodes, 
Little  Fay  would  be  vehemently  wrathful.  She  would 
get  on  her  pony  without  any  saddle  in  her  evening  dress, 
and  ride  him  at  the  five-bar  gate  in  the  stable-yard ;  she 
would  put  on  Sydie's  smoking-cap,  and  look  very  pretty 
in  it,  and  take  a  Queen's  on  the  divan  of  the  smoking- 
room,  reading  BeWs  Life,  and  asking  Keane  how  much 
he  would  bet  on  the  October ;  she  would  spend  all  the 
morning  making  wreatlis  of  roses,  dressing  herself  and 
the  puppies  up  ia  them,  in(|uiring  if  it  was  not  a  laudable 
and  industrious  occupation.  There  was  no  nonsense  or 
mischief  Fay  would  not  imagine  and  forthwith  commit, 
and  anything  they  wanted  her  not  to  do  she  would  do 


284  THE    rtENEUAl/s    MATOII-MAKINO 

Straightway,  even  to  the  imperilling  of  her  own  life  and 
limb.  She  tried  hard  to  irritate  or  rouse  "  Plato,"  as  she 
called  him,  but  Plato  was  not  to  be  moved,  and  treated 
her  as  a  spoilt  child,  whom  he  alone  had  sense  enough  to 
resist. 

"  It  will  be  great  folly  for  you  to  attempt  it,  Miss 
Morton.  Those  horses  are  not  fit  to  be  driven  by  any 
one,  much  less  by  a  woman,"  said  Keane,  quietly,  one 
morning. 

They  were  in  the  stable-yard,  and  chanced  to  be  alone 
when  a  new  purchase  of  the  governor's  —  two  scarcely 
broken-in  thorough-bred  colts — were  brought  with  a  new 
mail-phaeton  into  the  yard,  and  Miss  Fay  forthwith 
announced  her  resolution  of  driving  them  round  the 
avenue.  The  groom  that  came  with  them  told  her  they 
were  almost  more  than  he  could  manage,  their  own  coach- 
man begged  and  implored,  Keane  reasoned  quietly,  all  to 
no  purpose.  The  rosebud  had  put  out  its  little  wilful 
thorns ;  Keane's  words  added  fuel  to  the  fire.  Up  she 
sprang,  looking  the  daintiest  morsel  imaginable  perched 
up  on  that  very  exalted  box-seat,  told  the  horrified  groora 
to  mount  behind,  and  started  them  off,  lifting  her  hat 
with  a  graceful  bow  to  "  Plato,"  who  stood  watching  the 
phaeton  with  his  arms  folded  and  his  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

Soon  after,  he  started  in  the  contrary  direction,  for  the 
avenue  circled  the  Beeches  in  an  oval  of  four  miles,  and 
he  knew  he  should  meet  her  coming  back.  He  strolled 
along  under  the  pleasant  shadow  of  the  great  trees, 
enjoying  the  sunset  and  the  fresh  air,  and  capable  of 
enjoying  them  still  more  but  for  an  inward  misgiving. 
His  presentiment  was  not  without  its  grounds.  He  had 
walked  about  a  mile  and  a  half  round  the  avenue,  when 
a  cloud  of  dust  told  him  what  was  up,  and  in  the  distance 
came  the  thorough-breds,  broken  away  as  he  had  prophe- 
sied, tearing  along  with  the  bits  between  their  teeth, 
Little  Fay  keeping  gallantly  hold  of  the  ribbons,  but  aa 


THE    QENERAL's    MATCII-3IA  KI  N'ti.  285 

powerless  over  the  colts  no,v  they  had  got  their  heads  aa 
the  groom  leaning  from  the  back  seat. 

On  came  the  phaeton,  bu.nping,  rattling,  oscillating:, 
threatening  every  second  to  be  turned  over,  Keano 
caught  one  glance  of  Fay's  face,  resolute  and  pale,  and 
of  her  little  hands  grasping  the  libbons,  till  they  were 
cut  and  bleeding  with  the  strain.  Ihere  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  stand  straight  in  the  animals'  path,  catch  their 
heads,  and  throw  them  back  on  their  haunches.  Luckily, 
his  muscles  were  like  iron  —  luckily,  too,  the  colts  had 
come  a  long  way,  and  were  not  fresh.  He  stood  like  a 
rock,  and  checked  them ;  running  a  very  close  risk  of 
dislocating  his  arms  with  the  shock,  but  saving  little  Fay 
from  destruction.  The  colts  stood  trembling,  the  groom 
jumped  out  and  caught  the  reins,  Keane  amused  himself 
silently  with  the  mingled  penitence,  vexation,  shame,  and 
rebellion  visible  in  the  little  lady's  face. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  quietly,  "  as  you  were  so  desirous  of 
breaking  your  neck,  will  you  ever  forgive  me  for  defeat- 
ing your  purpose?" 

"  Pray  don't ! "  cried  Fay,  passionately.  "  I  do  thank 
you  so  much  for  saving  my  life ;  I  think  it  so  generous 
and  brave  of  you  to  have  rescued  me  at  such  risk  to 
vourself.  I  feel  that  I  can  never  be  grateful  enough  to 
you,  but  don't  talk  in  that  way.  I  know  it  was  silly  and 
self-willed  of  me." 

"  It  was  ;  that  fact  is  obvious." 

"  Then  I  shall  make  it  more  so,"  cried  Miss  Fay,  with 
her  old  wilfulness.  "  I  do  feel  very  grateful,  and  [  would 
tell  you  so,  if  you  would  let  me;  but  if  you  think  it  has 
made  me  afraid,  you  are  quite  wrong,  and  so  you  shall 
see." 

And  before  he  could  interfere,  or  do  more  than  mecliau- 
ically  spring  up  after  her,  she  had  caught  the  reins  from 
the  groom,  and  started  the  trembling  colts  ofi' again.  But 
Keane  ])Ut  his  hand  on  the  ribbons. 


286  THE  general's  match-making. 

"Foolish  child;  are  you  mad?"  he  said,  so  gravely 
yet  so  gently  that  Fay  let  thera  go,  and  let  him  drive  her 
back  to  the  stable-yard,  whfere  she  sprang  out,  and  rushed 
away  to  her  own  room,  terrified  the  governor  with  a  few 
vehement  sentences,  wliich  gave  him  a  vague  idea  that 
Keane  was  murdered  and  both  Fay's  legs  broken,  and 
then  had  a  private  cry  all  to  herself,  with  her  arms  round 
Snowdrop's  neck,  curled  up  in  one  of  the  drawing-room 
windows,  where  she  had  not  been  long  when  the  General 
and  Keane  passed  through,  not  noticing  her,  hidden  as 
she  was,  in  curtains,  cushions,  and  flowers. 

"  She 's  a  little  wilful  thing,  Keane,"  the  General  was 
saying,  "  but  you  must  n't  think  the  worse  of  her  for 
that." 

"  I  don't.  I  am  sick  of  those  conventional  young 
ladies  who  agree  with  everything  one  says  to  them  —  who 
keep  all  the  frowns  for  mothers  and  servants,  and  are  as 
serene  as  a  cloudless  sky  abroad,  smile  blandly  on  all 
alike,  and  have  n't  an  opinion  of  their  own." 

"  Fay  's  plenty  of  opinions  of  her  own,"  chuckled  the 
General ;  "  and  she  tells  'em  pretty  freely,  too.  Ble:is 
the  child,  she  's  not  ashamed  of  any  of  her  thoughts,  and 
never  will  be." 

"  I  hope  not.  Your  little  niece  can  do  things  that  no 
other  young  lady  could,  and  they  are  so  pretty  in  her, 
that  it  would  be  a  thousand  pities  for  her  to  grow  one 
atom  less  natural  and  wilful.  Grapes  growing  Avild  are 
charming  —  grapes  trained  to  a  stake  are  ruined.  I  as- 
sure you,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  not  scold  her  for  driving 
those  colts  to-day.  High  spirits  and  love  of  fun  led  her 
on,  and  the  courage  and  presence  of  mind  she  disjjlaycd 
are  too  rare  among  her  sex  for  us  to  do  right  in  checking 
them." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  assented  the  governor,  glee- 
fully. "  God  bless  the  child,  she 's  one  among  a  thou- 
Band,  sir.  Cognac,  not  milk  and  water.  There's  the 
dinner-bell ;  confound  it." 


THE  general's  match-making.  287 

Wliereat  the  General  made  his  exit,  and  Kcane  also ; 
and  Fay  kissed  the  spaniel  with  even  more  passionate 
attachment  than  ordinary. 

"Ah,  Snowdrop,  I  don't  hate  him  any  more;  he  is  a 
darling !  " 

One  glowing  August  morning  Keane  w^as  in  the  study 
pondering  whether  he  would  go  to  his  moor  or  not.  The 
General  had  besought  him  to  stay.  His  gamekeeper 
■wrote  him  that  it  was  a  horribly  bad  rainy  season  in  In- 
vernessshire ;  the  trout  and  the  rabbits  were  very  good 
sport  in  a  mild  way  here.  Altogether,  Keane  felt  half 
disposed  to  keep  whei-e  he  was,  when  a  shadow  fell  aci'oss 
his  paper ;  and,  as  he  looked  up,  he  saw  in  the  open  win- 
dow the  English  rosebud. 

"  Is  it  not  one  of  the  open  questions,  Mr.  Keane," 
asked  Fay,  "  whether  it  is  very  wise  to  spend  all  this 
glorious  morning  shut  out  of  the  sight  of  the  sun-raya 
and  the  scent  of  the  flowers?" 

"  How  have  you  been  spending  it,  then?" 

"  Putting  bouquets  in  all  the  rooms,  cleaning  my 
aviary,  talking  to  the  puppies,  and  reading  Jocelyn  under 
the  limes  in  the  shrubberies  —  all  very  puerile,  but  all 
very  pleasant.  Perhaps  if  you  descended  to  a  lazy  day 
like  that  now  and  then,  you  might  be  none  the  worse!" 

"  Is  that  a  challenge  ?  Will  you  take  me  under  the 
limes?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  do  not  admit  men  who  despise  them 
to  my  gardens  of  Armida,  any  more  than  you  would 
admit  me  into  your  Schools.  I  have  as  great  a  scorn  for 
a  6kej)tic  as  you  have  for  a  tyro." 

"  Pardon  me.  I  have  no  scorn  lor  a  tyro.  But  you 
would  not  come  to  the  Accademe ;  you  dislike  *  Plato ' 
too  much." 

Fay  looked  up  at  him  half  shyly,  half  mischievously. 

"Yes,  I  do  dislike  you,  wlu.'n  you  look  down  on  me  as 
Richelieu  might  have  looked  down  on  his  kitten." 


288  TUE  general's  match-makino. 

"  Liking  to  see  its  play  ? "  said  Keane,  half  sadly. 
"Contrastiug  its  gay  insouciance  with  his  own  toil  and 
turmoil,  regretting,  perhaps,  the  time  when  trifles  made 
his  joy  as  they  did  his  kitten's?  If  I  were  to  look  on 
you  so,  there  would  not  be  much  to  offend  you." 

"  You  do  not  think  so  of  me,  or  you  would  speak  to 
me  as  if  I  were  an  intelligent  being,  not  a  silly  little 
thing." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  think  you  silly  ?  " 

"Because  you  think  all  women  so." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  then  you  should  rather  try  to  redeem 
me  from  my  error  in  doctrine.  Come,  let  us  sign  a  treaty 
of  peace.  Take  me  under  the  limes.  I  want  some  fresh 
air  after  writing  all  day;  and  in  payment  I  will  teach 
you  Euclid,  as  you  vainly  beseeched  your  cousin  to  do 
yesterday." 

"  Will  you  ? "  cried  Fay,  eagerly.  Then  she  thi-ew  back 
her  head.     "  I  never  am  won  by  bribes." 

"  Nor  yet  by  threats  ?  What  a  difficult  young  lady 
you  are.  Come,  show  me  your  shrubbery  sanctum  now 
you  have  invaded  mine." 

The  English  rosebud  laid  aside  its  wilful  thorns,  and 
Fay,  a  little  less  afraid  of  her  Plato,  and  therefore  a 
little  less  defiant  to  him,  led  him  over  the  grounds,  filled 
his  hands  with  flowers,  showed  him  her  aviary,  read  some 
of  Jocelyn  to  him,  to  show  him,  she  said,  that  Lamartine 
W'as  better  than  the  Q^dipus  in  Coloneus,  and  thought,  as 
«jhe  dressed  for  dinner,  "  I  wonder  if  he  does  despise  me 
— he  has-  such  a  beautiful  face,  if  he  were  not  so  haughty 
and  cold!" 

The  next  day  Keane  gave  her  an  hour  of  Euclid  in  the 
study.  Certainly  The  Coach  had  never  had  such  a  pretty 
pupil ;  and  he  wished  every  dull  head  he  had  to  cram  was 
as  intelligent  as  this  fair-haired  one.  Fay  was  quick  and 
clever;  she  was  stimulated,  moreover,  by  his  decree  con- 
cerning the  stupidity  of  all  women ;  she  really  worked  us 


THE    general's    MATCn-MAKINO.  2b9 

hard  as  any  young  man  studying  for  degrees  when  tbey 
supposed  her  fast  asleep  in  bed,  and  she  got  over  the  Poum 
Asinorum  in  a  style  that  fairly  astonished  her  tutor. 

The  Coach  did  not  dislike  his  occupation  either ;  it  did 
him  good,  after  his  life  of  solitude  and  study,  something 
as  the  kitten  and  cork  did  Richelieu  good  after  his  cabi- 
nets and  councils  ;  and  Little  Fay,  with  her  flowers  and 
fun,  mischief  and  impudence,  and  that  winning  wilful- 
ness which  it  amused  him  gradually  to  tame  down,  unbent 
the  chillness  which  had  grown  upon  him.  He  was  the 
better  for  it,  as  a  man  after  hard  study  or  practice  is  the 
better  for  some  fresh  sea-breezes,  and  some  days  of  care- 
less dolce. 

"  Well,  Fay,  have  you  had  another  poor  devil  flinging 
himself  at  your  feet  by  means  of  a  postage-stamp?"  said 
Sydie  one  morning  at  breakfast.  "  You  can't  disguise 
anything  from  me,  your  most  interested,  anxious,  and 
near  and  dear  relative.  Whenever  the  governor  looks 
particularly  stormy  I  see  the  signs  of  the  times,  that  if  1 
do  not  forthwith  remove  your  dangerously  attractive 
person,  all  the  bricks,  spooneys,  swells,  and  do-nothings 
in  the  county  will  speedily  fill  the  Hanwell  wards  to 
overflowing." 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense,  Sydie,"  said  Fay,  impa- 
tiently, with  a  glance  at  Keane,  as  she  handed  him  his 
chocolate. 

"Ah!  deuce  take  the  fellows,"  chuckled  the  General. 
"  Love,  devotion,  admiration  !  What  a  lot  of  stufl"  they 
do  write.  I  wonder  if  Fay  were  a  little  beggar,  how 
much  of  it  all  would  stand  the  test  ?  But  we  know  a 
trick  worth  two  of  that.  Try  those  sardines,  Keane. 
House  is  let.  Fay — eh?  House  is  let;  nobody  need 
apply.     Ha,  ha !  " 

And  the  General  took  some  more  curry,  laughing  till 
he  was  purple,  while  Fay  blushed  scarlet,  a  trick  of  which 
26  T 


290  THE  general's  match-making. 

she  was  rarely  guilty ;  Syclie  smiled,  and  Keane  picked 
out  his  sardines  with  calm  deliberation. 

"  Hallo !  God  bless  my  soul ! "  burst  forth  the  General 
again.  "  Devil  take  me !  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  stand  it ! 
Confound  'em  all !  I  do  call  it  hard  for  a  man  not  to  be 
able  to  sit  at  his  breakfast  in  peace.  Good  Heavens ! 
what  will  come  to  the  country,  if  all  those  little  devils 
grow  up  to  be  food  for  Calcraft  ?  He 's  actually  pulling 
the  bark  off  the  trees,  as  I  live !  Excuse  me,  I  can^t  sit 
still  and  see  it." 

Wherewith  the  General  bolted  from  his  chair,  darted 
through  the  window,  upsetting  three  dogs,  two  kittens,  and 
a  stand  of  flowers  in  his  exit,  and  bolted  breathlessly 
across  the  park  with  the  poker  in  his  hand. 

"  Bless  his  old  heart !  Ain't  he  a  brick  ?  "  shouted  Sydie. 
"  Do  excuse  me,  Fay,  I  must  go  and  hear  him  blow  up 
that  boy  sky-high,  and  give  him  a  shilling  for  tuck  after- 
wards ;  it  will  be  so  rich." 

The  Cantab  made  his  exit,  and  Fay  busied  herself  calm- 
ing the  kittens'  minds,  and  restoring  the  dethroned  gera- 
niums. Keane  read  his  Times  for  ten  minutes,  then 
looked  up. 

"  Miss  Morton,  where  is  your  tongue  ?  I  have  not  heard 
it  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  a  miracle  that  has  never  hap- 
pened in  the  two  months  I  have  been  at  the  Beeches." 

"  You  do  not  want  to  hear  it." 

"  What !  am  I  in  mauvais  odeur  again  ?  "  smiled  Keane. 
"  I  thought  we  were  good  friends.  Have  you  found  the 
Q,.  E.  D.  to  the  problem  I  gave  you  ?" 

"  To  be  sure ! "  cried  Fay,  exultantly.  And  kneeling 
down  by  him,  she  went  through  the  whole  thing  in  ex- 
ceeding triumi^h. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,"  said  her  tutor,  smiling,  in  him- 
self amazed  at  this  volatile  little  thing's  capacity  for 
mathematics.  "  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  take  y(jur  de- 
gree, if  you  like.     Come,  do  you  hate  me  now,  Fay?" 


THE    general's    MATCH-MAKING.  291 

"No,"  said  Fay,  a  little  shyly.  "  I  never  hated  you,  I 
always  admired  you  ;  but  I  was  afraid  of  you,  though  I 
would  never  confess  it  to  Sydie." 

"  Never  be  afraid  of  me,"  said  Keane,  putting  his  hand 
on  hers  as  it  lay  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  You  have  no 
cause.  You  can  do  things  few  girls  can ;  but  they  are 
pretty  in  you,  where  they  might  be — not  so  pretty  in 
others.  I  like  them  at  the  least.  You  are  very  fond  of 
your  cousin,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Of  Sydie  ?     Oh,  I  love  him  dearly  ! " 

Keane  took  his  hand  away,  and  rose,  as  the  General 
trotted  in : 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  Keane,  how  warm  it  is !  Con- 
foundedly hot  without  one's  hat,  I  can  tell  you.  Had  my 
walk  all  for  nothing,  too.  That  cursed  little  idiot  wa^  n't 
trespassing  after  all.  Stephen  had  set  him  to  spud  out 
the  daisies,  and  I  'd  thrashed  the  boy  before  I  'd  listen  to 
him.     Devil  take  him ! " 

August  went  out  and  September  came  in,  and  Keana 
stayed  on  at  the  Beeches.  They  were  pleasant  days  to 
ihem  all,  knocking  over  the  partridges  right  and  left,  en- 
joying a  cold  luncheon  under  the  luxuriant  hedges,  and 
going  home  for  a  dinner,  full  of  laughter,  and  talk,  and 
good  cookery ;  and  Fay's  songs  afterwards,  as  wild  and 
sweet  in  their  way  as  a  goldfinch's  on  a  hawthorn  spray. 

"You  like  Little  Fay,  don't  you,  Keane?"  said  the 
General,  as  they  went  home  one  evening. 

Keane  looked  startled  for  a  second. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  rather  haughtily.  "  That  Miss 
Morton  is  very  charming  every  one  must  admit." 

"  Bless  her  little  heart !  She 's  a  wild  little  filly,  Keane , 
but  she  '11  go  better  and  truer  than  your  quiet  broken-in 
ones,  who  wear  the  harness  so  respectably,  and  are  so 
•wicked  and  vicious  in  their  own  minds.  And  what  do 
you  think  of  my  boy  ?"  asked  the  General,  jwinting  to 
Sydie,  who  was  in  front.  "  How  does  he  stand  at  Cam' 
bri  ge?' 


292  THE  oeneral's  match-making. 

"  Sydie  ?  Oh,  he 's  a  nice  young  fellow.  He  is  a  great 
favorite  there,  and  he  is  —  the  best  things  he  can  be — • 
generous,  sweet-tempered,  and  honorable " 

"To  be  sure,"  echoed  the  General,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"He's  a  dear  boy  —  a  very  dear  boy.  They  're  both  ex- 
actly all  I  wished  them  to  be,  dear  children ;  and  I  must 
say  I  am  delighted  to  see  'em  carrying  out  the  plan  I  had 
always  made  for  'em  from  their  childhood." 

"  Being  what,  General,  may  I  ask?" 

"  Why,  any  one  can  see,  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  that 
they  're  in  love  with  each  other,"  said  the  General,  glow- 
ing with  satisfaction ;  "  and  I  mean  them  to  be  married 
and  happy.  They  dote  on  each  other,  Keane,  and  I  sha'n't 
put  any  obstacles  in  their  way.  Youth  's  short  enough, 
Heaven  knows  ;  let  'em  enjoy  it,  say  I,  it  don't  come  back 
again.  Don't  say  anything  to  him  about  it ;  I  want  to 
have  some  fun  with  him.  They  've  settled  it  all,  of  course, 
long  ago  ;  but  he  has  n't  confided  in  me,  the  sly  dog. 
Trust  an  old  campaigner,  though,  for  twigging  an  affaire 
de  coeur.  Bless  them  both,  they  make  me  feel  a  boy 
again.  We  '11  have  a  gay  wedding,  Keane ;  mind  you 
come  down  for  it.     I  dare  say  it  '11  be  at  Christmas." 

Keane  walked  along,  drawing  his  cap  over  his  eyes. 
The  sun  was  setting  full  in  his  face. 

"Well,  what  sport?"  cried  Fay,  running  up  to  them. 

"  Pretty  fair,"  said  Keane,  coldly,  as  he  passed  her. 

It  was  an  hour  before  the  dinner-bell  rang.  Then  he 
came  down  cold  and  calm,  particularly  brilliant  in  con- 
versation, more  courteous,  perhaps,  to  her  than  ever,  but 
the  frost  had  gathered  round  him  that  the  sunny  atmos- 
phere of  the  Beeches  had  melted ;  and  Fay,  though  she 
tried  to  tease,  and  to  coax,  and  to  win  him,  could  not 
dissipate  it.  She  felt  him  an  immeasurable  distance  from 
her  again.  He  was  a  learned,  haughty,  grave  philoso- 
pher, and  she  a  little  naughty  child. 

As  Keane  went  up-stairs  that  night,  he  heard  Sydio 
talking  in  the  hall. 


THE    general's    MATCH-MAKING.  293 

"  Yes,  my  ^vorshipped  Fay,  I  shall  be  intensely  and 
utterly  miserable  away  from  tlie  light  of  your  eyes ;  but, 
nevertheless,  I  must  go  and  see  Kingslake  from  John's 
next  Tuesday,  because  I've  promised  ;  and  let  one  idolize 
your  divine  self  ever  so  much,  one  can't  give  up  one's 
larks,  you  know." 

Keane  ground  his  teeth  with  a  bitter  sigh  and  a  fierce 
oath. 

"  Little  Fay,  I  would  have  loved  you  more  tenderly 
than  that!" 

He  went  in  and  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  not  to  sleep. 
For  the  first  time  for  many  years  he  could  not  summon 
sleep  at  his  will.  He  had  gone  on  petting  her  and 
amusing  himself,  thinking  of  her  only  as  a  winning,  way- 
ward child.  Now  he  woke  with  a  shock  to  discover,  too 
late,  that  she  had  stolen  from  him  unawares  the  heart  he 
had  so  long  refused  to  any  woman.  With  his  high  intel- 
lect and  calm  philosophy,  after  his  years  spent  in  severe 
science  and  cold  solitude,  the  hot  well-springs  of  passion 
had  broken  loose  again.  He  longed  to  take  her  bright 
life  into  his  own  grave  and  cheerless  one ;  he  longed  to 
feel  her  warm  young  heart  beat  with  his  own,  icebound 
for  so  many  years ;  but  Little  Fay  was  never  to  be  his. 

In  the  bedroom  next  to  him  the  General  sat,  with  his 
feet  in  his  slippers  and  his  dressing-gown  round  him, 
smoking  his  last  cheroot  before  a  roaring  fire,  chuckling 
complacently  over  his  own  thoughts. 

"  To  be  sure,  we  '11  have  a  very  gay  wedding,  such  as 
the  county  hasn't  seen  in  all  its  blessed  days,"  he  mut- 
tered, with  supreme  satisfaction.  "  Sydie  shall  have  this 
place.  What  do  I  want  with  a  great  town  of  a  house 
like  this,  big  enough  for  a  barrack  ?  I  '11  take  that  shoot- 
ing-box that's  to  let  four  miles  off";  that'll  be  plenty 
large  enough  for  me  and  my  old  chums  to  smoke  in  and 
chat  over  bygone  times,  and  it  will  do  our  hearts  good  — 
freshen  us  up  a  ])it  to  see  those  young  things  enjoying 
25* 


294  THE  general's  match-making. 

themselves.  My  Little  Fay  will  be  the  prettiest  bride 
that  ever  was  seen.  Silly  young  things  to  suppose  I  don't 
see  through  them.  Trust  an  old  soldier !  However,  love 
is  blind,  they  say.  How  could  they  have  helped  falling 
in  love  with  one  another  ?  and  who  'd  have  the  heart  to 
part  'em,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

Keane  stayed  that  day  ;  the  next,  receiving  a  letter 
which  afforded  a  true  though  a  slight  excuse  to  return  to 
Cambridge,  he  went,  the  General,  Fay,  and  Sydie  be- 
lieving him  gone  only  for  a  few  days,  he  knowing  that 
he  would  never  set  foot  in  the  Beeches  again.  He  went 
back  to  his  rooms,  whose  dark  monastic  gloom  in  the 
dull  October  day  seemed  to  close  round  him  like  an  iron 
shroud.  Here,  with  his  books,  his  papers,  his  treasures 
of  intellect,  science  and  art,  his  "  mind  a  kingdom  "  to 
him,  he  had  spent  many  a  happy  day,  with  his  brain 
growing  only  clearer  and  clearer  as  he  followed  out  a 
close  reasoning  or  clenched  a  subtle  analysis.  Now,  for 
the  sake  of  a  mischievous  child  but  half  his  age,  he 
shuddered  as  he  entered. 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,"  began  the  General  one  day  after 
dinner,"  I  've  seen  your  game,  though  you  thought  I  did  n't. 
How  do  you  know,  you  young  dog,  that  I  shall  give  my 
consent?" 

"  Oh,  bother,  governor,  I  know  you  will,"  cried  Sydie, 
aghast ;  "  because,  you  see,  if  you  let  me  have  a  few  cool 
hundreds  I  can  give  the  men  such  slap-up  wines — and  it  '8 
my  last  year,  General." 

"You  sly  dog!"  chuckled  the  governor,  "I'm  not 
talking  of  your  wine-merchant,  and  you  know  I  'm  not, 
Master  Sydie.  It 's  no  good  playing  hide-and-seek  with 
me;  I  can  always  see  through  a  milestone  when  Cupid  is 
behind  it ;  and  there  's  no  need  to  beat  round  the  bush 
with  me,  my  boy.  I  never  gave  my  assent  to  anything 
with  greater  delight  in  my  life;  I've  alwaj's  meant  you 
to  marry  Fay,  and " 


THE    general's    M ATCII-MAKINQ.  295 

"  Marry  Fay  ! "  shouted  Sydie.  "  Good  Heavens !  gov- 
ernor, what  next?"  And  the  Cantab  threw  himself 
hack  and  laughed  till  he  cried,  and  Snowdrop  and  her 
pups  barked  furiously  in  a  concert  of  excited  sympathy. 

"Why,  sir,  why?  —  why,  because  —  devil  take  you, 
Rydie — I  don't  know  what  you  are  laughing  at,  do  you?" 
cried  the  General,  starting  out  of  his  chair. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  governor ;  you  're  laboring  under  a  most 
delicious  delusion." 

"Delusion!  —  eh? — what?  Why,  bless  my  soul,  I 
don't  think  you  know  what  you  are  saying,  Sydie," 
stormed  the  General. 

"  Yes  I  do  ;  you  've  an  idea  —  how  you  got  it  into  your 
head  Heaven  knows,  but  there  it  is — you've  an  idea  that 
Fay  and  I  are  in  love  Avith  one  another ;  and  I  assure  you 
you  were  never  mox'e  mistaken  in  your  life." 

Seeing  the  General  standing  bolt  upright  staring  at 
him,  and  looking  decidedly  apocleptic,  Sydie  made  the 
matter  a  little  clearer. 

"  Fay  and  I  would  do  a  good  deal  to  oblige  you,  my 
beloved  governor,  if  we  could  get  up  the  steam  a  little, 
but  I  'm  afraid  we  really  cannot.  Love  ain't  in  one's  own 
hands,  you  see,  but  a  skittish  mare,  that  gets  her  head, 
and  takes  the  bit  between  her  teeth,  and  bolts  off  with 
you  wherever  she  likes.  Is  it  possible  that  two  people 
who  broke  each  other's  toys,  and  teased  each  other's  lives 
out,  and  caught  the  measles  of  each  other,  from  their 
cradle  upwards,  should  fall  in  love  with  each  other  when 
they  grow  up  ?  Besides,  I  don't  intend  to  marry  for  the 
next  twenty  years,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  could  n't  afford  a 
milliner's  bill  to  my  tailor's,  and  I  should  be  ruined  for 
lile  if  I  merged  my  bright  particular  star  of  a  self  into  a 
respectable,  lark-shunning,  bill-paying,  shabby-hatted, 
family  man.  Good  Heavens,  what  a  train  of  horrora 
comes  with  the  bare  idea !  " 


296  THE  general's  match-making. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  you  won't  marry  your 
cousin?"  shouted  the  General. 

"Bless  your  dear  old  heart,  7io,  governor  —  ten  times 
over,  no  !  I  would  n't  marry  anybody,  not  for  half  the 
universe." 

"  Then  I  've  done  with  you,  sir — I  wash  my  hands  of 
you!"  shouted  the  General,  tearing  up  and  down  the 
room  in  a  quick  march,  more  beneficial  to  his  feelings 
than  his  carpet.  "  You  are  an  ungrateful,  unprincipled, 
shameless  young  man,  and  are  no  more  worthy  of  the 
affection  and  the  interest  I  've  been  fool  enough  to  waste 
on  you  than  a  tom-cat.  You  're  an  abominably  selfish, 
ungrateful,  unnatural  boy ;  and  though  you  are  poor 
Phil's  son,  I  will  tell  you  my  mind,  sir ;  and  I  must  say 
I  think  your  conduct  with  your  cousin,  making  love  to 
her — desperate  love  to  her — winning  her  afllectious,  poor 
unhappy  child,  and  then  making  a  jest  of  her  and  treating 
it  with  a  laugh,  is  disgraceful,  sir  —  disgraceful,  do  you 
hear?" 

"  Yes,  I  hear.  General,"  cried  Sydie,  convulsed  with 
laughter ;  "  but  Fay  cares  no  more  for  me  than  for  those 
geraniums.  We  are  fond  of  one  another,  in  a  cool, 
cousinly  sort  of  way,  but " 

"  Hold  your  tongue ! "  stormed  the  General.  "  Don'l 
dare  to  say  another  word  to  me  about  it.  You  know  well 
enough  that  it  has  been  the  one  delight  of  my  life,  and 
if  you  'd  had  any  respect  or  right  feeling  in  you,  you  'd 
marry  her  to-morrow." 

"  She  would  n't  be  a  party  to  that.  Few  women  are 
bl  ind  to  my  manifold  attractions  ;  but  Fay 's  one  of  'em. 
Look  here,  governor,"  said  Sydie,  laying  his  hand  affec- 
tionately on  the  General's  shoulder,  "  did  it  never  occur 
to  you  that  though  the  pretty  castle  's  knocked  down, 
there  may  be  much  nicer  bricks  left  to  build  a  new  one? 
Can't  you  see  that  Fay  docs  n't  care  two  buttons  about 


THE  general's  matcii-makino.  20" 

me,  but  cares  a  good  many  diamond  studs  about  some- 
body else?" 

"  Nothing  has  occurred  to  me  but  that  you  and  she  are 
two  heartless,  selfish,  ungrateful  chits.  Hold  your  tongue, 
sir!" 

'But,  General " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir ;  don't  talk  to  me,  I  tell  you. 
In  love  with  somebody  else  ?  I  should  like  to  see  him 
show  his  fiice  here.  Somebody  she 's  talked  to  for  five 
minutes  at  a  race-ball,  and  proposed  to  her  in  a  corner, 
thinking  to  get  some  of  my  money.  Some  swindler,  or 
Italian  refugee,  or  blackleg,  I  '11  be  bound  —  taken  her  in, 
made  her  think  him  an  angel,  and  will  persuade  her  to 
run  away  with  him.  I  '11  set  the  police  round  the  house 
— I'll  send  her  to  school  in  Paris.  What  fools  men  are 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  women  at  all !  You  seem  in 
their  confidence;  who's  the  fellow?" 

"A  man  very  like  a  swindler  or  a  blackleg — Keane!" 
"  Keane ! "  shouted  the  General,  pausing  in  the  middle 
of  his  frantic  march. 

"  Keane,"  responded  Sydie. 

"  Keane ! "  shouted  the  General  again.  "  God  bless  my 
soul,  she  might  as  well  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  man 
in  the  moon.  Why  could  n't  she  like  the  person  I  'd 
chosen  for  her?" 

"  If  one  can't  guide  the  mare  one's  self,  'tis  n't  likely  the 
governors  can  for  one,"  muttered  Sydie, 

"  Poor  dear  child !  fallen  in  love  witb  a  man  who  don't 
care  a  button  for  her,  eh  ?  Humph  !  —  that 's  always  the 
way  with  women — lose  the  good  chances,  and  fling  them- 
selves at  a  man's  feet  who  cares  no  more  for  their  tom- 
foolery of  worship  than  he  cares  for  the  blacking  on  his 
boots.  Devil  take  young  people,  what  a  torment  they 
are!  The  ungrateful  little  jade,  how  dare  she  go  and 
Bmash  all  my  plans  like  that  ?  and  if  I  ever  set  my  heart 
on  anything,  I  set  it  on  that  nuitch.     Keane!  he'll  no 


298  THE  general's  match-making. 

more  love  anybody  than  the  stone  cherubs  on  the  terrace. 
He  's  a  splendid  head,  but  his  heart 's  every  atom  as  cold 
as  granite.  Love  her  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  When  I  told 
him  you  were  going  to  marry  her  (I  thought  you  would, 
and  so  you  will,  too,  if  you  've  the  slightest  particle  of 
gratitude  or  common  sense  in  either  of  you),  he  listened 
as  quietly  and  as  calmly  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  men 
in  armor  in  the  hall.  Love,  indeed !  To  the  devil  with 
love,  say  I !  It 's  the  head  and  root  of  everything  that 's 
mischievous  and  bad." 

"Wait  a  bit,  uncle,"  cried  Sydie;  "you  told  him  all 
about  your  previous  match-making,  eh  ?  And  did  n't  he 
go  off  like  a  shot  two  days  after,  when  we  meant  him  to 
stay  on  a  month  longer?  Can't  you  put  two  and  two 
together,  my  once  wide-awake  governor  ?  'Tis  n't  such  a 
difficult  operation." 

"  No,  I  can't,"  shouted  the  General :  "  I  don't  know 
anything,  I  don't  see  anything,  I  don't  believe  in  any- 
thing, I  hate  everybody  and  everything,  I  tell  you ;  and 
I  'm  a  great  fool  for  having  ever  set  my  heart  on  any  plan 
that  wanted  a  woman's  concurrence  — 

For  if  she  will  she  will,  you  may  depend  on 't, 

And  if  she  won't  she  won't,  and  there  's  an  end  on  't." 

Wherewith  the  General  stuck  his  wide-awake  on 
fiercely,  and  darted  out  of  the  bay-window  to  cool  him- 
self. Half  way  across  the  lawn,  he  turned  sharp  round, 
and  came  back  again. 

"  Sydie,  do  you  fancy  Keane  cares  a  straw  for  that 
child?" 

"  I  can't  say.     It 's  possible." 

"  Humph  !  Well,  can't  you  go  and  see  ?  That 's  come 
of  those  mathematical  lessons.  What  a  fool  I  was  to 
allow  her  to  be  so  much  with  him  ! "  growled  the  General, 
with  many  grunts  and  half-audible  oaths,  swinging  round 


THE    general's    MATCH-MAKING.  299 

again,  and  trotting  through  the  windo'sr  as  hot  and  pep- 
pery as  his  own  idolized  curry. 

Keane  was  sitting  writing  in  his  rooms  at  King's  some 
few  days  after.  The  backs  looked  dismal  with  their 
leafless,  sepia-colored  trees  ;  the  streets  were  full  of  sloppy 
mud  and  dripping  under-grads'  umbrellas ;  his  own  room 
looked  sombre  and  dark,  without  any  sunshine  on  its 
heavy  oak  bookcases,  and  massive  library-table,  and  dark 
bronzes.  His  pen  moved  quickly,  his  head  was  bent  over 
the  paper,  his  mouth  sternly  set,  and  his  forehead  paler 
and  more  severe  than  ever.  The  gloom  in  his  chambers 
had  gathered  round  him  himself,  when  his  door  was  burst 
open,  and  Sydie  dashed  in  and  threw  himself  down  in  a 
green  leather  arm-chair. 

"  Well,  sir,  here  am  I  back  again.  Just  met  the  V.  P. 
in  the  quad,  and  he  was  so  enchanted  at  seeing  me,  that 
he  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks,  flung  off"  his  gown,  tossed 
up  his  cap,  and  performed  a  pas  d'extase  on  the  spot. 
Is  n't  it  delightful  to  be  so  beloved  ?  Granta  looks  very 
delicious  to-day,  I  must  say  —  about  as  refreshing  and 
lively  as  an  acidulated  spinster  going  district-visiting  in 
a  snow-storm.     And  how  are  you,  most  noble  lord?" 

"  Pretty  well." 

"  Only  that  ?  Thought  you  were  all  muscle  and  iron. 
I  say.  What  do  you  think  the  governor  has  been  saying 
to  me  ?  " 

"How  can  I  tell?" 

"  Tell !  No,  I  should  not  have  guessed  it  if  I  'd  tried 
for  a  hundi'ed  years !  By  George !  nothing  less  than  that 
I  should  marry  Fay.     What  do  you  think  of  that,  sir?" 

Keane  traced  Greek  unconsciously  on  the  margin  of 
his  Times.  For  the  life  of  him,  with  all  his  self-command, 
he  could  not  have  answered. 

"Marry  Fay!  J.'"  shouted  Sydie.  "Ye  gods,  what 
an  idea !  I  never  was  so  astonished  in  all  ray  days. 
Marry  Little  Fay !  —  fhe  governor  must  be  mad,  you 
know. 


800  THE    GENERAI/S    M ATCII-MAKINQ. 

"  You  will  not  marry  your  cousin  ?  "  asked  Keane,  trau- 
quilly,  though  the  rapid  glance  and  involuntary  start  did 
not  escape  Sydie's  quick  eyes. 

"  Marry !  I !  By  George,  no  !  She  Avould  n't  have  me, 
and  I  'm  sure  I  would  n't  have  her.  She  is  a  dear  little 
monkey,  and  I  'm  very  fond  of  her,  but  I  would  n't  put 
the  halter  round  my  neck  for  any  woman  going.  I  don't 
like  vexing  the  General,  but  it  would  be  really  too  great 
a  sacrifice  merely  to  oblige  him." 

"She  cares  nothing  for  you,  then?" 

"  Nothing  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  Yes,  in  a  measure, 
she  does.  If  I  should  be  taken  home  on  a  hurdle  one 
fine  morning,  she  'd  shed  some  cousinly  tears  over  my 
inanimate  body ;  but  as  for  the  other  thing,  not  one  bit  of 
it.  'Tis  n't  likely.  We  're  a  great  deal  too  like  one 
another,  too  full  of  devilry  and  carelessness,  to  assimilate. 
Isn't  it  the  delicious  contrast  and  fiz  of  the  sparkling 
acid  of  divine  lemons  with  the  contrariety  of  the  fiery 
spirit  of  beloved  rum  that  makes  the  delectable  union 
known  and  worshipped  in  our  symposia  under  the  blissful 
name  of  punch?  Marry  Little  Fay!  By  Jove,  if  all 
the  governor's  match-making  was  founded  on  no  better 
reasons  for  success,  it  is  a  small  marvel  that  he 's  a 
bachelor  now  !     By  George,  it 's  time  for  hall ! " 

And  the  Cantab  took  himself  off,  congratulating  him- 
self on  the  adroit  manner  in  which  he  had  cut  the  Gor- 
dian  knot  that  the  General  had  muddled  up  so  inex- 
plicably in  his  unpropitious  match-making. 

Keane  lay  back  in  his  chair  some  minutes,  very  still ; 
then  he  rose  to  dine  in  hall,  ])ushing  away  his  books  and 
papers,  as  if  throwing  aside  with  them  a  dull  and  heavy 
weight.  The  robins  sang  in  the  leafless  backs,  the  sim 
shone  out  on  the  sloppy  streets ;  the  youth  he  thought 
gone  for  ever  was  come  back  to  him.  Oh,  strange  stale 
story  of  Hercules  and  Omphale,  old  as  the  hills,  and  as 
eternal!     Hercules  goes  on   in  his  strength  slaying  liif 


THE    general's    MATCH-MAKING.  301 

hydra  and  his  Laomedou  for  many  years,  but  he  comes 
at  last,  whether  he  like  it  or  not,  to  his  Omphale,  at 
whose  feet  he  is  content  to  sit  and  spin  long  golden 
threads  of  pleasure  and  of  passion,  while  his  lion's  skin 
Is  niotheaten  and  his  club  rots  away. 

Little  Fay  sat  curled  up  on  the  study  hearth-rug,  read- 
ing a  book  her  late  guest  had  left  behind  him  —  a  very 
light  and  entertaining  volume,  being  Delolme  "  On  the 
Constitution,"  but  which  she  preferred,  I  suppose,  to 
"What  Will  He  Do  With  It?"  or  the  "Feuilles  d'Au- 
tomne,"  for  the  sake  of  that  clear  autograph,  "  Gerald 
Keane,  King's  Coll.,"  on  its  fly-leaf.  A  pretty  picture 
she  made,  with  her  handsome  spaniels ;  and  she  was  so 
intent  on  what  she  was  reading — the  fly-leaf,  by  the 
way  —  that  she  never  heard  the  opening  of  the  door,  till 
a  hand  drew  away  her  book.  Then  Fay  started  up, 
oversetting  the  puppies  one  over  another,  radiant  and 
breathless. 

Keane  took  her  hands  and  drew  her  near  him. 

"You  do  not  hate  me  now,  then  ?" 

Fay  put  her  head  on  one  side  with  her  old  wilfulness. 

"Yes,  I  do — when  you  go  away  without  any  noticu, 
and  hardly  bid  me  good-bye.  You  would  not  have  left 
one  of  your  men  pupils  so  unceremoniously." 

Keane  smiled  involuntarily,  and  drew  her  closer. 

"  If  you  do  not  hate  me,  will  you  go  a  step  farther — ■ 
and  love  me?  Little  Fay,  my  own  darling,  will  you 
come  and  brighten  my  life?  It  has  been  a  saddened  and 
a  stern  one,  but  it  shall  never  throw  a  shade  on  yours." 

The  wild  little  filly  was  conquered  —  at  last,  she  came 
to  hand  docile  and  subdued,  and  acknowledged  her 
master.  She  loved  him,  and  told  him  so  with  that  frank- 
ness and  fondness  which  would  have  covered  faults  far 
more  glaring  and  weighty  than  Little  Fay's. 

"  But  you   must   never   be   afraid  of  me,"  whispered 
Keane,  some  time  after. 
26 


302  THE  general's  match-making. 

"Oh,  no!" 

"And  you  do  not  wish  Sydie  had  never  brought  me 
here  to  make  you  all  uncomfortable?" 

"  Ob,  please  don't ! "  cried  Fay,  plaintively.  "  I  was  a 
child  then,  and  I  did  not  know  what  I  said." 

" '  Then,'  being  three  months  ago,  may  I  ask  what  you 
are  now  ?  " 

"  A  child  still  in  knowledge,  but  yoiir  child,"  whispered 
Fay,  lifting  her  face  to  his,  "  to  be  petted  and  spoiled, 
and  never  found  fault  with,  remember ! " 

"  My  little  darling,  who  would  have  the  heart  to  find 
fault  with  you,  Avhatever  your  sins?" 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  what 's  this  ?"  cried  a  voice  in  the 
doorway. 

There  stood  the  General  in  wide-awake  and  shooting- 
coat,  with  a  spade  in  one  hand  and  a  watering-pot  in  the 
other,  too  astonished  to  keep  his  amazement  to  himself. 
Fay  would  fain  have  turned  and  fled,  but  Keane  smiled, 
kept  one  arm  round  her,  and  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
the  governor. 

"  General,  I  came  once  uninvited,  and  I  am  come  again. 
Will  you  forgive  me  ?  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you, 
but  I  must  ask  you  one  question  first  of  all.  Will  you 
give  me  your  treasure  ?" 

"Eh!  humph!  What?  Well  — I  suppose  —  yes," 
ejaculated  the  General,  breathless  from  the  combined 
effects  of  amazement  anol  excessive  and  vehement  garden- 
ing. "  But,  bless  my  soul,  Keane,  I  should  as  soon  have 
thought  of  one  of  the  stone  cherubs,  or  that  bronze 
Milton.  Never  mind,  one  lives  and  learns.  Mind? 
Devil  take  me,  what  am  I  talking  about?  I  don't  mind 
at  all;  I'm  very  happy,  only  I'd  set  my  heart  on  —  you 
know  what.  More  fool  I.  Fay,  you  little  imp,  come  here. 
Are  you  fairly  broken  in  by  Keane,  then  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Fay,  with  her  old  mischief,  but  a  new 
blush,  "  as  he  has  promised  never  to  use  the  curb." 


THE   general's   MATCII-MAKINO.  303 

"God  bless  you,  then,  my  little  pet,"  cried  the  General, 
kissing  her  some  fifty  times.  Then  he  laughed  till  he 
cried,  and  dried  his  eyes  and  laughed  again,  and  grunted, 
and  growled,  and  shook  both  Keane's  hands  vehemently. 
"  I  was  a  great  foul,  sir,  and  I  dare  say  you  've  managed 
much  better.  I  did  set  my  heart  on  the  boy,  you  know, 
but  it  can't  be  helped  now,  and  I  don't  wish  it  should. 
Be  kind  to  her,  that 's  all ;  for  though  she  may  n't  bear 
the  curb,  the  whip  from  anybody  she  cares  about  would 
break  her  heart.  She's  a  dear  child,  Keane  —  a  very 
dear  child.     Be  kind  to  her,  that 's  all." 

On  the  evening  of  January  13th,  beginning  the  Lent 
Term,  Mr.  Sydenham  Morton  sat  in  his  own  rooms  with 
half  a  dozen  spirits  like  himself,  a  delicious  aroma  sur- 
rounding them  of  Maryland  and  rum-punch,  and  a  rapid 
flow  of  talk  making  its  way  through  the  dense  atmo- 
sphere. 

"  To  think  of  Granite  Keane  being  caught !  "  shouted 
one  young  fellow.  "  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of 
the  Pyramids  walking  over  to  the  Sphinx,  and  marrying 
her." 

"  Poor  devil !  I  pity  him,"  sneered  Henley  of  Trinity, 
aged  nineteen. 

"He  don't  require  much  pity,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  think 
he 's  pretty  comfortable,"  rejoined  Sydie.  "He  did,  to  be 
sure,  when  he  was  trying  to  beat  sense  into  your  brain- 
box,  but  that 's  over  for  the  present." 

"Come,  tell  us  about  the  wedding,"  said  Somerset  of 
King's.     "  1  was  sorry  I  could  n't  go  down." 

"  Well,"  began  Sydie,  stretching  his  legs  and  putting 
down  his  pipe,  "she  —  the  she  was  dressed  in  white  tulle 
and " 

"  Bother  the  dress.     Go  ahead !  " 

"  The  dress  was  no  bother,  it  was  the  one  subject  in 
life  to  the  women.     You  must  listen  to  the  dress,  because 


304  THE    general's    MATCn-MAKINO. 

I  asked  the  prettiest  girl  there  for  the  description  of  it  to 
enlighten  your  minds,  and  it  was  harder  to  learn  than  six 
books  of  Horace.  The  bridesmaids  wore  tarlatane  a  la 
Princesse  Stephanie,  trois  jupes  bouillonnees,  jupe  dessous 
de  sole  glacee,  guirlandes  couleur  des  yeux  imperiaux 
d'Eugenie,  corsets  decolletes  garnis  de  ruches  de  ruban 
du " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  hold  your  tongue ! "  cried  Somer- 
set. "That  jargon  's  worse  than  the  Yahoos'.  The  dead 
languages  are  bad  enough  to  learn,  but  women's  living 
language  of  fashion  is  ten  hundred  times  worse.  The 
twelve  girls  were  dressed  in  blue  and  white,  and  thought 
themselves  angels  —  we  understand.     Cut  along." 

"  Gunter  was  prime,"  continued  Sydie,  "  and  the  gov- 
ernor was  prime,  too  —  splendid  old  buck  ;  only  when  he 
gave  her  away  he  was  very  near  saying,  '  Devil  take  it ! ' 
which  might  have  had  a  novel,  but  hardly  a  solemn, 
effect.  Little  Fay  was  delightful  —  for  all  the  world  like 
a  bit  of  incarnated  sunshine.  Keane  was  granite  all 
over,  except  his  eyes,  and  they  were  lava ;  if  we  had  n't, 
for  our  own  preservation,  let  him  put  her  in  a  carriage 
and  started  'em  off,  he  might  have  become  dangerous, 
after  the  manner  of  Etna,  ice  outside  and  red-hot  coals 
within.  Tlie  bridesmaids  tears  must  have  washed  the 
church  for  a  week,  and  made  it  rather  a  damp  affair. 
One  would  scarcely  think  women  were  so  anxious  to 
marry,  to  judge  from  the  amount  of  grief  they  get  up  at 
a  friend's  sacrifice.  It  looks  uncommonly  like  envy ; 
but  it  is  nH,  we  're  sure !  The  ball  was  like  most  other 
balls :  alternate  waltzing  and  flirtation,  a  vast  lot  of  non- 
sense talked,  and  a  vast  lot  of  champagne  drunk  —  Cupid 
running  about  in  every  direction,  and  a  tremendous  run 
on  all  the  amatory  poets  —  Browning  and  Tennyson 
being  w^orked  as  hard  as  cab-horses,  and  used  up  pretty 
much  as  those  quadrupeds  —  dandies  suffering  self-in- 
flicted torture  from  tight  boots,  and  saying,  like  Cranmer, 


THE    general's    MATCH-MAKING.  305 

when  he  held  his  hand  in  the  fire,  that  it  was  rather 
agreeable  than  otherwise,  considering  it  drew  admiration 
■ — spurs  getting  entangled  in  ladies'  dresses,  and  ladies 
making  use  thereof  for  a  display  of  amiability,  which  the 
dragoons  are  very  much  mistaken  if  they  fancied  con- 
tinued into  private  life  —  girls  believing  all  the  pretty 
things  said  to  them  —  men  going  home  and  laughing  at 
them  all  —  wallflowers  very  black,  Avomen  engaged  ten 
deep  very  sunshiny  —  the  governor  very  glorious,  and 
ray  noble  self  very  fascinating.  And  now,"  said  Sydie, 
taking  up  his  pipe,  "  pass  the  punch,  old  boy,  and  never 
gay  I  can't  talk !  " 


THE  STORY  OF  A  CRAYON-HEAD ; 


A  DOUBLED-DOWN   LEAF  IN  A  MAN'S  LIFE. 

WAS  dining  with  a  friend,  in  his  house  on  the 
Lung'  Arno  (he  fills,  never  mind  what,  post 
in  the  British  Legation),  where  I  was  passing 
an  autumn  month.  The  night  was  oppressively  hot ;  a 
still,  sultry  sky  brooded  over  the  city,  and  the  stars  shin- 
ing out  from  a  purple  mist  on  to  the  Campanile  near,  and 
the  slopes  of  Bellosguardo  in  the  distance.  It  was  in- 
tensely hot ;  not  all  the  iced  wines  on  his  table  could 
remove  the  oppressive  warmth  of  the  evening  air,  which 
made  both  him  and  me  think  of  evenings  we  had  spent 
together  in  the  voluptuous  lassitude  of  the  East,  in  days 
gone  by,  Avhen  we  had  travelled  there,  fresh  to  life,  to 
new  impressions,  to  all  that  gives  "  greenness  to  the  grass, 
and  glory  to  the  flower." 

The  Arno  ran  on  under  its  bridge,  and  we  leaned  out 
of  the  balcony  where  we  were  sitting  and  smoking,  while 
I  tossed  over,  without  thinking  much  of  what  I  was  doing, 
a  portfolio  of  his  sketches.  Position  has  lost  for  art  many 
good  artists  since  Sir  George  Beaumont:  my  friend  is 
one  of  them  ;  his  sketches  are  masterly  ;  and  had  he  been 
a  vagrant  Bohemian  instead  of  an  English  peer,  there 
mi'dit  have  been  pictures  on  the  walls  of  the  R.  A.  to 
console  one  for  the  meretricious  daubs  and  pet  vulgarities 
of  nursery  episodes,  hideous  babies,  and  third-class  car- 
riage  interiors,    which    make   one's   accustomed    aimuai 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD.  307 

visit  to  the  rooms  that  once  saw  the  beauties  of  Reynokls, 
and  Wilson,  and  Lawrence,  a  positive  martyrdom  to  any- 
body of  decent  refinement  and  educated  taste.  The  port- 
folio stood  near  me,  and  I  took  out  a  sketch  or  two  now 
and  then  between  the  pauses  of  our  conversation,  looking 
lazily  up  the  river,  while  the  moonlight  shone  on  Dante's 
city,  that  so  long  forgot,  and  has,  so  late,  remembered 
him. 

"  Ah !  what  a  pretty  face  this  is !  Who  's  the  origi- 
nal?" I  asked  him,  drawing  out  a  female  head,  done 
with  great  finish  in  pastel,  under  which  was  Avritten,  in 
his  own  hand,  "  Florelle."  It  was  a  face  of  great  beauty, 
with  a  low  Greek  brow  and  bronze-dark  hair,  and  those 
large,  soft,  liquid  eyes  tliat  you  only  see  in  a  Southern, 
and  that  looked  at  you  from  the  sketch  with  an  earnest, 
wistful  regard,  half  childlike,  half  impassioned.  He 
looked  up,  glanced  at  the  sketch,  and  stretched  out  his 
hand  hastily,  but  I  held  it  away  from  him.  "I  want  to 
look  at  it ;  it  is  a  beautiful  head  ;  I  wish  we  had  the 
original  here  now.     Who  is  she  ?  " 

As  I  spoke  —  holding  the  sketch  up  where  the  lighi 
from  the  room  within  fell  on  what  I  had  no  doubt  was  a 
likeness  of  some  fair  face  that  had  beguiled  his  time  in 
days  gone  by,  a  souvenir  of  one  of  his  loves  more  lasting 
than  souvenirs  of  such  episodes  in  one's  life  often  are,  if 
merely  trusted  to  that  inconstant  capricieuse.  Memory, — - 
I  might  have  hit  him  with  a  bullet  rather  than  asked 
him  about  a  mere  etude  a  deux  crayons,  for  he  shuddered, 
and  drank  off"  some  white  Hermitage  quickly. 

"  I  had  forgotten  that  was  in  the  portfolio,"  he  said, 
hurriedly,  as  he  took  it  from  me  and  put  it  behind  him, 
with  its  face  against  the  wall,  as  though  it  had  been  the 
sketch  of  a  Medusa. 

"What  do  you  take  it  away  for?  I  had  not  half  done 
looking  at  it.     Who  is  the  original?  " 

"One  I  dun't  cai'c  to  mention." 


308  THE    STORY    OP    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

"  Because  ? " 

"  Because  the  sight  of  that  picture  gives  me  a  twinge 
jfwhat  I  ought  to  be  hardened  against — regret." 

"  Regret !     Is  any  woman  worth  that  ?  " 

"  Slie  was." 

"  I  don't  believe  it ;  and  I  fancied  you  and  I  thouglit 
alike  on  such  points.  Of  all  the  women  for  whom  we 
feel  twinges  of  conscience  or  self-reproach  in  melancholy 
moments,  how  many  loved  us  f  Moralists  and  poets  sen- 
timentalize over  it,  and  make  it  a  stalking-horse  whereby 
to  magnify  our  sins  and  consign  us  more  utterly  to  perdi- 
tion, while  they  do  for  themselves  a  little  bit  of  poetic 
morality  cheaply ;  but  in  reality  there  are  uncommonly 
few  women  who  can  love,  to  begin  with,  and  in  the 
second,  vanity,  avarice,  jealousy,  desires  for  pretty  toi- 
lettes, one  or  other,  or  all  combined,  have  quite  as  much 
to  do  with  their  'sacrifice'  for  us  as  anything." 

"Quite  true;  but — there  are  women  and  women,  per- 
haps, and  it  was  not  of  that  sort  of  regret  that  I  spoke." 

"Of  what  sort,  then?" 

He  made  me  no  reply  :  he  broke  the  ash  off  his  Manilla, 
and  smoked  silently  some  moments,  leaning  over  the 
balcony  and  watching  the  monotonous  flow  of  the  Arno, 
with  deeper  gloom  on  his  face  than  I  remembered  to  have 
seen  there  any  time  before.  I  was  sorry  I  had  chanced  to 
light  upon  a  sketch  that  had  brought  him  back  such 
painful  recollections  of  whatever  kind  they  might  be, 
and  I  smoked  too,  sending  the  perfumed  tobacco  out  into 
the  still  sultry  night  that  was  brooding  over  Florence. 

"  Of  what  sort?"  said  he,  abruj^tly,  after  some  minutes' 
pause.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  Then  you  can  tell  me  whether 
I  was  a  fool  who  made  one  grand  mistake,  or  a  sensible 
man  of  the  world  wlio  kept  himself  from  a  grand  folly. 
I  have  been  often  in  doubt  myself." 

He  leaned  back,  his  face  in  shadow,  so  tliat  I  could  not 
Bce  it,  while  the  Arno's  ebb  and  Quw  was  making  mourn- 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD.  309 

fill  river-musio  under  our  windows, —  while  the  purple 
glories  of  the  summer  night  deepened  round  Giotto's 
Tower,  where,  in  centuries  past,  the  Immortal  of  Florence 
had  sat  dreaming  of  the  Paradiso,  the  mortals  passing  by- 
whispering  him  as  "  the  man  who  had  seen  hell,"  and  the 
light  within  the  room  shone  on  the  olives  and  grapes,  the 
cut-glass  and  silver  claret-jugs,  the  crimson  Montepul- 
ciano  and  the  white  Hermitage,  on  the  table,  as  he  told 
me  the  story  of  the  head  in  crayons. 

"  Two  years  ago  I  went  into  the  south  of  France.     I 

was  charge  d' Affaires  at then,  you  remember,  and 

the  climate  had  told  upon  me.  I  was  not  over-well,  and 
somebody  recommended  me  the  waters  of  Eaux  Bonnes. 
The  waters  I  put  little  faith  in,  but  in  the  air  of  the 
Pyrenees,  in  the  change  from  diplomacy  to  a  life  en  rase 
campagne,  I  put  much,  and  I  went  to  Eaux  Bonnes 
accordingly,  for  July  and  August,  with  a  vow  to  forswear 
any  society  I  might  find  at  the  baths — I  had  had  only 
too  much  of  society  as  it  was  —  and  to  spend  my  days  in 
the  mountains  with  my  sketching-block  and  my  gun. 
But  I  did  not  like  Eaux  Bonnes ;  it  was  intensely  warm. 
There  were  several  people  who  knew  me  really ;  no  end 
of  others  Avho  got  hold  of  my  name,  and  wanted  me  to 
join  their  riding-parties,  and  balls,  and  picnics.  That 
was  not  what  I  wanted,  so  I  left  the  place  and  went  on  to 
Luz,  hoping  to  find  solitude  there.  That  valley  of  Luz — ■ 
you  know  it? — is  it  not  as  lovely  as  any  artist's  dream  of 
Arcadia,  in  the  evening,  when  the  sunset  light  has  pas.sed 
ofl"  the  meadows  and  corn-lands  of  the  lower  valley,  and 
just  lingers  golden  and  rosy  on  the  crests  of  the  moun- 
tains, while  the  glow-worms  are  coming  out  among  the 
grasses,  and  the  lights  are  being  lit  in  the  little  home- 
steads nestling  among  their  orchards  one  above  another 
on  the  hill-sides,  and  its  hundred  streams  are  rushing 
down  the  mountains  and  under  the  trees,  foaming,  and 
tum1)ling,  and  rejoicing  on   their  way!     When   I  havo 


310  THE  STORY    OP    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

had  my  fill  of  ambition  and  of  pleasure,  I  shall  go  and 
live  at  Luz,  I  think. 

"  When  !  Well !  you  are  quite  right  to  repeat  it  ironi- 
cally ;  that  time  will  never  come,  I  dare  say,  and  why 
should  it?  I  am  not  the  stuff  to  cogitate  away  my  years 
in  country  solitudes.  If  prizes  are  worth  winning,  they 
are  worth  working  for  till  one's  death ;  a  man  should 
never  give  up  the  field  while  he  has  life  left  in  him. 
Well !  I  went  to  Luz,  and  spent  a  pleasant  week  or  so 
there,  knocking  over  a  few  chamois  or  izards,  or  sketch- 
ing on  the  sides  of  the  Pic  du  Midi,  or  Tourmalet,  but 
chiefly  lying  about  under  the  great  beech-trees  in  the 
shade,  listening  to  the  tinkle  of  the  sheep-bells,  like  an 
idle  fellow,  as  I  meant  to  be  for  the  time  I  had  allotted 
myself.     One  day " 

He  stopped  and  blew  some  whifls  from  his  Manilla  into 
the  air.  He  seemed  to  linger  over  the  prelude  to  hia 
story,  and  shrink  from  going  on  with  the  story  itself,  I 
thought ;  and  he  smothered  a  sigh  as  he  raised  himself. 

"  How  warm  the  night  is ;  we  shall  have  a  tempest. 
Beach  me  that  wine,  there 's  a  good  fellow.  No,  not  the 
Amontillado,  the  Ch&teau  Margaux,  please;  one  can't 
drink  hot  dry  wines  such  a  night  as  this.  But  to  satisfy 
your  curiosity  about  this  crayon  study.  —  One  day  I 
thought  I  would  go  to  Gavarnie.  I  had  heard  a  good 
deal,  of  course,  about  the  great  marble  wall,  and  the 
mighty  waterfalls,  the  rocks  of  Marbore,  and  the  Breche 
de  Roland,  but,  as  it  chanced,  I  had  never  been  up  to  the 
Cercle,  nor,  indeed,  in  that  part  of  the  Midi  at  all,  so  I 
went.  The  gods  favored  me,  I  remember ;  there  were  no 
mists,  the  sun  was  brilliant,  and  the  great  amphitheatre 
was  for  once  unobscui'ed  ;  the  white  marble  flashing  brown 
and  purple,  rose  and  golden,  in  the  light ;  the  cascades 
tumbling  and  leaping  down  into  the  gigantic  basin  ;  the 
vast  plains  of  snow  glittering  in  the  sunshine ;  the  twin 
rocks  standing  in  the  clear  air,  straight  and  fluted  as  any 


THE    STORY    OF    A    ORAYON-nEAD.  311 

two  Corinthian  columns  hewn  and  chiselled  by  man. 
Good  Heaven !  before  a  scene  like  Gavarnic,  what  true 
artist  must  not  fling  away  his  colors  and  his  brushes  in 
despair  and  disgust  with  his  own  puerility  and  impo- 
tence? What  can  be  transferred  to  canvas  of  such  a 
scene  as  that?  "What  does  the  best  beauty  of  Claude,  the 
grandest  sublimity  of  Salvator,  the  greatest  power  of 
Poussin,  look  beside  Nature  when  she  reigns  as  she  reigns 
at  Gavarnie?  I  am  an  art  worshipper,  as  you  know:  but 
there  are  times  in  my  life,  places  on  earth,  that  make  me 
ready  to  renounce  art  for  ever ! 

"The  day  was  beautiful,  and  thinking  I  knew  tho 
country  pretty  well,  I  took  no  guides.  I  hate  them  when 
I  can  possibly  dispense  with  them.  But  the  mist  soon 
swooped  down  over  the  Cercle,  and  I  began  to  wish  I  had 
had  one  when  I  turned  my  horse's  head  back  again.  You 
know  the  route,  of  course  ?  Through  the  Chaos — Heaven 
knows  it  is  deserving  of  its  name;  —  down  the  break-neck 
little  bridle-path,  along  the  Gave,  and  over  the  Scia 
bridge  to  St.  Sauveur.  You  know  it  ?  Then  you  know 
that  it  is  much  easier  to  break  your  neck  down  it  than  to 
find  your  Avay  by  it,  though  by  some  hazard  I  did  not 
break  my  neck,  nor  the  animal's  knees  either,  but  man- 
aged to  get  over  the  bridge  without  falling  into  the  tor- 
rent, and  to  pick  ray  waj''  safely  down  into  more  level 
ground ;  once  there,  I  thought  I  should  easily  enough  find 
my  way  to  St.  Sauveur,  but  I  was  mistaken  :  the  mists 
had  spread  over  the  valley,  a  heavy  storm  had  come  up, 
and,  somehow  or  other,  I  lost  the  way,  and  could  not  tell 
where  I  was,  whether  St.  Sauveur  was  to  the  left  or  the 
right,  behind  me  or  in  front  of  me.  The  horse,  a  misera- 
ble little  Pyroncan  beast,  was  too  frightened  by  the  light- 
ning to  take  the  matter  into  his  hands  as  he  had  done  on 
the  road  through  the  Chaos,  and  I  saw  nothing  for  it  but 
to  surrender  and  come  to  grief  in  any  way  the  elementa 
best  pleased ;  swearing  at  myself  for  not  having  stayed 


312  THE    STORF   OP    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

at  the  inn  at  Gavarnie  or  Gedre ;  wishing  myself  at  the 
vilest  mountain  auberge  that  ever  sheltered  men  and 
mules  pele-mele ;  and  calling  myself  hard  names  for  not 
having  listened  to  my  landlady's  dissuasions  of  that  morn- 
ing as  I  left  her  door,  from  my  project  of  going  to 
Gavarnie  without  a  guide,  which  seemed  to  her  the  acme 
of  all  she  had  ever  known  or  heard  of  English  strangers' 
fooleries.  The  storm  only  increased,  the  great  black 
rocks  echoing  the  roll  of  the  thunder,  and  the  Gave  lash- 
ing itself  into  fury  in  its  narrow  bed ;  happily  I  was  on 
decently  level  ground,  and  the  horse  being,  I  suppose, 
tolerably  used  to  storms  like  it,  I  pushed  him  on  at  last, 
by  dint  of  blows  and  conjurations  combined,  to  where,  in 
the  flashes  of  the  lightning,  I  saw  what  looked  to  me  like 
the  outline  of  a  homestead :  it  stood  in  a  cleft  between 
two  shelving  sides  of  rock,  and  a  narrow  bridle-path  led 
up  to  it,  through  high  yews  and  a  tangled  wilderness  of 
rhododendrons,  boxwood,  and  birch — one  of  those  green 
slopes  so  common  in  the  Pyrenees,  that  look  in  full  sun- 
light doubly  bright  and  Arcadian-like,  from  the  contrast 
of  the  dark,  bare,  perpendicular  rocks  that  shut  them  in. 
I  could  see  but  little  of  its  beauty  then  in  the  fog  that 
shrouded  both  it  and  me,  but  I  saw  the  shape  and  sem- 
blance of  a  house,  and  urging  the  horse  up  the  ascent, 
thundered  on  its  gate-panels  with  my  whip-handle  till  the 
rocks  round  echoed. 

"  There  was  no  answer,  and  I  knocked  a  little  louder, 
if  possible,  than  before.  I  was  wet  to  the  skin  with  that 
wretched  storm,  and  swore  not  mildly  at  the  inhospitable 
roof  that  would  not  admit  me  under  it.  I  knocked  again, 
inclined  to  pick  up  a  piece  of  granite  and  beat  the  panel 
in ;  and  at  last  a  face  —  an  old  woman's  weather-beaten 
face,  but  with  black  southern  eyes  that  had  lost  little  of 
their  fire  with  age — looked  through  a  grating  at  me  and 
asked  me  what  I  wanted. 

" '  I  want  shelter  if  you  can  give  it  me,'  I  answered  hei. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD.  313 

'I  have  lost  my  Avay  coming  from  Gavarnie,  and  am 
drenched  tlirough.  I  will  pay  you  liberally  if  you  will 
give  me  an  asylum  till  the  weather  clears.' 

*'  Her  eyes  blazed  like  coals  through  the  little  grille. 

" '  M'sieu,  we  take  no  money  here — have  you  mistaken 
it  for  an  inn  ?  Come  in  if  you  want  shelter,  in  Heaven's 
name !  The  Holy  Virgin  forbid  we  should  refuse  refuge 
to  any ! ' 

"And  she  crossed  herself  and  uttered  some  conjurations 
to  Mary  to  protect  them  from  all  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing, 
and  guard  their  dwelling  from  all  harm,  by  Avhich  I  sup- 
pose she  thought  I  spoke  fairly  and  looked  harmless,  but 
might  possibly  be  a  thief  or  an  assassin,  or  both  in  one. 
She  unlocked  the  gate,  and  calling  to  a  boy  to  take  my 
horse  into  a  shed,  admitted  me  under  a  covered  passage- 
way into  the  house,  which  looked  like  part,  and  a  very 
ruined  part,  too,  of  what  had  probably  been,  in  the  times 
of  Henri-Quatre  and  his  grandfather,  a  feudal  chateau 
fenced  in  by  natural  ramparts  from  the  rocks  that  sur- 
rounded it,  shutting  in  the  green  slope  on  which  it  stood, 
with  only  one  egress,  the  path  through  which  I  had 
ascended,  into  the  level  plain  below.  She  marshalled  me 
through  this  covered  way  into  an  interior  passage,  dark 
and  vaulted,  cheerless  enough,  and  opened  a  low  oak  door, 
ushering  me  into  a  chamber,  bare,  gloomy,  yet  with  some- 
thing of  lost  grandeur  and  past  state  lingering  about  its 
great  hearth,  its  massive  walls,  its  stained  windows,  and 
its  ragged  tapestry  hangings.  The  woman  went  up  to  one 
of  the  windows  and  spoke  with  a  gentleness  to  which  I 
should  have  never  thought  her  voice  could  have  been 
attuned  with  its  harsh  patois. 

"  *  Mon  enfant,  v'la  un  m'sieu  etranger  qui  vient  cher- 
cher  un  abri  pour  un  petit  peu.     Veux-tu  lui  parler?' 

"  The  young  girl  she  spoke  to  turned,  rose,  and,  coming 
forward,  bade  me  Avelcome  with  the  grace,  simplicity,  and 
the  naive  freedom  from  embarrassment  of  a  child, '  ♦oking 


314  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAB. 

up  in  my  face  with  her  soft  clear  eyes.  She  was  like  — — 
No  matter !  you  have  seen  that  crayon-head,  it  is  but  a 
portrayal  of  a  face  whose  expression  Raphael  and  Sasso- 
ferrato  themselves  would  have  failed  to  render  in  its 
earnest,  innocent,  elevated  regard.    She  was  very  young — 

Standing  with  reluctant  feet 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet  — 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet. 

Good  Heavens,  I  am  quoting  poetry !  what  will  you  think 
of  me,  to  have  gone  back  to  the  Wertherian  and  Tcnny- 
sonian  days  so  far  as  to  repeat  a  triplet  of  Longfellow's  ? 
No  man  quotes  those  poets  after  his  salad  days,  except  in 
a  moment  of  weakness.  Caramba!  why  has  one  any 
weaknesses  at  all  ?  we  ought  not  to  have  any ;  we  live  in 
an  atmosphere  that  would  kill  them  all  if  they  were  not 
as  obstinate  and  indestructible  as  all  other  weeds  whose 
seeds  will  linger  and  peer  up  and  spoil  the  ground,  let  one 
root  them  out  ever  so !  I  owed  you  an  apology  for  that 
lapse  into  Longfellow,  and  I  have  made  it.  Am  I  to  go 
on  with  this  story?" 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  and  his  laugh  was  by  no 
means  heartfelt.  I  told  him  to  go  on,  and  he  lighted 
another  Manilla  and  obeyed  me,  while  the  Arno  mur- 
mured on  its  way,  and  the  dusky,  sultry  clouds  brooded 
nearer  the  earth,  and  the  lights  were  lit  in  the  distant 
windows  of  the  palace  of  the  Marchese  Acqua  d'Oro,  that 
fairest  of  Florentines,  who  rouges  so  indiscriminately  and 
flirts  her  fan  so  inimitably,  to  one  of  whose  balls  we  were 
going  that  night. 

He  settled  himself  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  face 
darkened  again  by  the  shadow  cast  on  it  from  the  pillar 
of  the  balcony ;  and  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  She  looked  incongruous  in  that  bare  and  gloomy 
room,  out  of  place  with  it,  and  out  of  keeping  with  the 
old  woman — a   French   peasant-woman,  weather-beaten 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRA  YON-IIEAD.  315 

and  bronzed,  such  as  you  see  any  day  by  the  score  riding 
to  market  or  sitting  knitting  at  their  cottage-doors.  It 
was  impossible  that  the  girl  could  be  either  daugliter  or 
grand-daughter,  or  any  relation  at  all  to  her.  In  that 
room  she  looked  more  as  one  of  these  myrtles  might  do, 
set  dov.'n  in  the  stifling  gloomy  horrors  of  a  London  street 
than  anything  else,  save  that  in  certain  traces  about  the 
chamber,  as  I  told  you,  there  were  relics  of  a  faded 
grandeur  which  harmonized  better  with  her.  I  can  see 
her  now,  as  she  stood  there  with  a  strange  foreign  grace, 
an  indescribable  patrician  delicacy  mingled  with  extreme 
youthfulness  and  naivete,  like  an  old  picture  in  costume, 
like  one  of  Raphael's  child-angels  in  face — poor  little 
Florelle ! 

"  *  You  Avould  stay  till  the  storm  is  over,  monsieur  ? 
you  are  welcome  to  shelter  if  you  will,'  she  said,  coming 
forward  to  me  timidly  yet  frankly.  '  Cazot  tells  me  you 
are  a  stranger,  and  our  mountain  storms  are  dangerous 
if  you  have  no  guide.' 

"  I  did  not  know  who  Cazot  was,  but  I  presumed  her 
to  be  the  old  woman,  Avho  seemed  to  be  portress,  mistress, 
domestic,  cameriste,  and  all  else  in  her  single  person,  but 
I  thanked  her  for  her  permitted  shelter,  and  accepted  her 
invitation  to  remain  till  the  weather  had  cleared,  as  you 
can  imagine.  When  you  have  lost  your  Avay,  any  asylum 
is  grateful,  however  desolate  and  tumble-down.  They 
made  me  welcome,  she  and  the  old  peasant-woman,  with 
that  simple,  unstrained,  and  unostentatious  hospitality 
which  is,  after  all,  the  true  essence  of  good  breeding,  and 
oii  which  your  parvenu  knows  nothing,  when  he  keeps 
you  waiting,  and  shows  you  that  you  are  come  at  an 
inapropos  moment,  in  his  fussy  fear  lest  everything 
should  not  be  comme  il  faut  to  do  due  credit  to  him.  Old 
Cazot  set  before  me  some  simple  refreshment,  a  grillade 
de  chdtaignes,  some  maize  and  milk,  and  a  dish  of  trout 
just  caught  in  the  Gave   below,  while   I  looked  at  my 


316  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

chiltelaine,  marvelling  how  that  young  and  delicate  erea 
ture  could  come  to  be  shut  up  with  an  old  peasant  on  a 
remote  hill-side.  I  did  my  best  to  draw  her  out  and  learn 
her  history ;  she  was  shy  at  first  of  a  complete  stranger, 
as  was  but  natural,  but  I  spoke  of  Garvarnie,  of  the 
beauty  of  the  Pyrenees,  or  Tourmalet,  and  the  Lac  Bleu, 
and,  warming  with  enthusiasm  for  her  birthplace,  the  girl 
forgot  that  I  was  a  foreign  tourist,  unknown  to  her,  and 
indebted  to  her  for  an  hour's  shelter,  and  before  my  im- 
promptu supper  was  over  I  had  drawn  from  her,  by  a  few 
questions  which  she  was  too  much  of  a  child  and  had  too 
little  to  conceal  not  to  answer  with  a  child's  ingenuousness, 
the  whole  of  her  short  history,  and  the  explanation  of  her 
anomalous  position.  Her  name  was  Florelle  de  I'Heris, 
a  name  once  powerful  enough  among  the  nobles  of  the 
Midi,  and  the  old  woman,  Madame  Cazot,  was  her  father's 
foster-sister.  Of  her  family,  beggared  in  common  with 
the  best  aristocracy  of  France,  none  were  now  left;  they 
had  dwindled  and  fallen  away,  till  of  the  once  great 
house  of  L'Heris  this  child  remained  alone  its  representa- 
tive :  her  mother  had  died  in  her  infancy,  and  her  father, 
either  too  idle  or  too  broken-hearted  to  care  to  retrieve 
his  fortunes,  lived  the  life  of  a  hermit  among  these  ruins 
where  I  now  found  his  daughter,  educating  her  himself 
till  his  death,  which  occurred  when  she  was  only  twelve 
years  old,  leaving  her  to  poverty  and  obscurity,  and  such 
protection  and  companionship  as  her  old  nurse  Cazot 
could  afford  her.  Such  was  the  story  Florelle  de  I'Heris 
told  me  as  I  sat  there  that  evening  waiting  till  the  clouds 
should  clear  and  the  mists  roll  off  enough  to  let  me  go  to 
St.  Sauveur — a  story  told  simply  and  pathetically,  and 
which  Cazot,  sitting  knitting  in  a  corner,  added  to  by  a 
hundred  gesticulations,  expletives,  appeals  to  the  Virgin, 
and  prolix  addenda,  glad,  I  dare  say,  of  any  new  confi- 
dent, and  disposed  to  regard  me  with  gratitude  for  my 
sincere  praises  of  her  fried  trout.     It  was  a  story  which 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD.  317 

seemed  to  me  to  suit  the  delicate  beauty  of  the  flower  I 
had  found  in  the  wilderness,  and  read  more  like  a  chapter 
of  some  versified  novelette,  like  'Lucille,'  than  a  bond 
fide  page  out  of  the  book  of  one's  actual  life,  especially 
in  a  life  like  mine,  of  essentially  material  pleasures  and 
emphatically  substantial  and  palpable  ambitions.  But 
there  are  odd  stories  in  real  life! — strange  pathetic  ones, 
too — stranger,  often,  than  those  that  found  the  plot  and 
underplot  of  a  novel  or  the  basis  of  a  poem ;  but  when 
such  men  as  I  come  across  them  they  startle  us,  they  look 
bizarre  and  unlike  all  the  other  leaves  of  the  book  that 
glitter  with  worldly  aphorisms,  plilosophical  maxims,  and 
pungent  egotisms,  and  we  would  fain  cut  them  out ;  they 
have  the  ring  of  that  Arcadia  whose  golden  gates  shut 
on  us  when  we  outgrew  boyhood,  and  in  which,  en 
revanche,  we  have  sworn  ever  since  to  disbelieve — keep- 
ing our  word  sometimes,  perhaps  to  our  own  hindrance — 
Heaven  knows ! 

"  I  stayed  as  long  as  I  could  that  evening,  till  the  weather 
had  cleared  up  so  long,  and  the  sun  was  shining  again  so 
indisputably,  that  I  had  no  longer  any  excuse  to  linger 
in  the  dark-tapestried  room,  with  the  chestnuts  sputtering 
among  the  wood-ashes,  and  Madame  Cazot's  needles  click- 
ing one  continual  refrain,  and  the  soft  gazelle  eyes  of  my 
young  chsVtelaine  glancing  from  my  sketches  to  me  with 
that  mixture  of  shyness  and  fearlessness,  innocence  and 
candor,  which  gave  so  great  a  charm  to  her  manner.  She 
was  a  new  study  to  me,  both  for  my  palette  and  my  mind 
— a  pretty  fresh  toy  to  amuse  me  while  I  should  stay  in 
the  Midi.  I  was  not  going  to  leave  Avithout  making  sure 
of  a  permission  to  return.  I  wanted  to  have  that  fiice 
among  my  pastels,  and  when  I  had  thanked  her  for  her 
Bhelter  and  her  welcome,  I  told  her  my  name,  and  asked 
her  leave  to  come  again  where  T  had  lieen  so  kindly  re- 
ceived. 

"'Come  again,  monsieur?     Certainly,  if  you   care  to 


318  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYOX-IIEAD. 

come.  But  you  will  find  it  a  long  way  from  Luz,  I  fear/ 
she  said,  naively,  looking  up  at  me  with  her  large  clear 
fown-like  eyes — eyes  so  cloudlees  and  untroubled  then — 
as  she  let  me  take  her  hand,  and  bade  me  adieu  et  bonsoir. 

"  I  reassured  her  on  that  score,  you  can  fancy,  and  left 
her  standing  in  the  deep-embrasured  window,  a  great  stag- 
hound  at  her  feet,  and  the  setting  sun,  all  the  brighter  for 
its  past  eclipse,  bathing  her  in  light.     I  can  always  see 

her  in  memory  as  I  saw  her  then,  poor  child ! Faugh ! 

How  hot  the  night  is  !     Can't  we  get  more  air  anyhow  ? 

" '  If  you  come  again  up  here,  m'sieu,  you  will  be  the 
first  visitor  the  Nid  de  I'Aigle  has  seen  for  four  years,' 
said  old  Cazot,  as  she  showed  me  out  through  the  dusky- 
vaulted  passage.  She  was  a  cheerful,  garrulous  old 
woman,  strong  in  her  devotion  to  the  De  I'Heris  of  the 
bygone  past ;  stronger  even  yet  in  her  love  for  their  single 
orphan  representative  of  the  beggared  present.  '  Visitors ! 
Is  it  likely  we  should  have  any,  m'sieu  ?  Those  that  would 
suit  me  would  be  bad  company  for  Ma'amselle  Florelle, 
and  those  that  should  seek  her  never  do.  I  recollect  the 
time,  m'sieu,  when  the  highest  in  all  the  departments  were 
glad  to  come  to  the  bidding  of  a  De  I'Heris ;  but  genera- 
tions have  gone  since  then,  and  lands  and  gold  gone  too, 
and,  if  you  cannot  feast  them,  what  care  people  for  you? 
That  is  true  in  the  Pyrenees,  m'sieu,  as  well  as  in  the  rest 
of  the  world.  I  have  not  lived  eighty  years  without  find- 
ing out  that.  If  my  child  yonder  were  the  heiress  of  the 
De  I'Heris,  there  would  be  plenty  to  court  and  seek  her ; 
])ut  she  lives  in  these  poor  broken-down  ruins  with  me,  an 
old  peasant  woman,  to  care  for  her  as  best  I  can,  and  not 
a  soul  takes  heed  of  her  save  the  holy  women  at  the  con- 
vent, where,  maybe,  she  will  seek  refuge  at  last ! ' 

"  She  let  me  out  at  the  gate  where  I  had  thundered  for 
admittance  two  hours  before,  and,  giving  her  my  thanks 
for  her  hospitality — money  she  would  not  take — I  wished 
her  good  day,  and  rode  down  the  bridle-path  to  St.  Sauveur, 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD.  61^ 

and  onwards  to  Luz,  thinking  iit  intervals  of  that  fair 
young  life  that  had  just  sprung  up,  and  was  already  des- 
tined to  wither  away  its  bloom  in  a  convent.  Any  destiny 
would  be  better  to  proifer  to  her  than  that.  She  interested 
me  already  by  her  childlike  loveliness  and  her  strange 
solitude  of  position,  and  I  thought  she  would  while  away 
some  of  the  long  summer  hours  during  my  stay  in  the 
Midi  when  I  was  tired  of  chamois  and  palette,  and  my 
lazy  dolce  under  the  beech-wood  shades.  At  any  rate, 
she  was  newer  and  more  charming  than  the  belles  of  Eaux 
Bonnes. 

"  The  next  morning  I  remembered  her  permission  and 
my  promise,  and  I  rode  out  through  the  town  again,  up 
the  mountain-road,  to  the  Nid  de  I'Aigle ;  glad  of  any- 
thing that  gave  me  an  amusement  and  a  pursuit.  I  never 
wholly  appreciate  the  far  niente,  I  think  ;  perhaps  I  have 
lived  too  entirely  in  the  world  —  and  a  world  ultra-cold 
and  courtly,  too — to  retain  much  patience  for  the  med- 
itative life,  the  life  of  trees  and  woods,  sermons  in  stones, 
and  monologues  in  mountains.  I  am  a  restless,  am- 
bitious man ;  I  must  have  a  pursuit,  be  it  of  a  great 
aim  or  a  small,  or  I  grow  weary,  and  my  time  hangs 
heavily  on  hand.  Already  having  found  Florelle  de 
I'Heris  among  these  hills  reconciled  me  more  to  my  jiro 
tempo  banishment  from  society,  excitement,  and  pleasure, 
and  I  thanked  my  good  fortune  for  having  lighted  upon 
her.  She  was  very  lovely,  and  I  always  care  more  for 
the  physical  than  the  intellectual  charms  of  any  woman. 
I  do  not  share  some  men's  visionary  requirements  on  their 
mental  score ;  I  ask  but  material  beauty,  and  am  content 
Avith  it. 

"  I  rode  up  to  the  Nid  de  I'Algle :  by  a  clearer  light  it 
stood  on  a  spot  of  great  picturesqueness,  and  before  the 
i'ury  of  the  revolutionary  peasantry  had  destroyed  what 
was  the  then  habitable  and  stately  chAteau,  must  have 
been  a  place  of  considerable  extent  and  beauty,  an  1  iu 


320  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

the  feudal  times,  fenced  in  by  the  natural  ramparts  of  its 
shelving  rocks,  no  doubt  all  but  impregnable.  There 
were  but  a  few  ruins  now  that  held  together  and  had  a 
roof  over  them — the  part  where  Madame  Cazot  and  the 
last  of  the  De  I'Heris  lived ;  it  was  perfectly  solitary ; 
there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  round  it  but  the  foaming 
of  the  river,  the  music  of  the  sheep-bells  from  the  flocks 
that  fed  in  the  clefts  and  on  the  slopes  of  grass-land,  and 
the  shout  of  some  shepherd-boy  from  the  path  below ;  but 
it  was  as  beautiful  a  spot  as  any  in  the  Pyrenees,  with  its 
overhanging  beech-woods,  its  wilderness  of  wild-flowers, 
its  rocks  covered  with  that  soft  gray  moss  whose  tint  defies 
one  to  repeat  it  in  oil  or  water  colors,  and  its  larches  and 
beeches  drooping  over  into  the  waters  of  the  Gave.  In 
such  a  home,  with  no  companions  save  her  father,  old 
Cazot,  and  her  great  stag-hound,  and,  occasionally,  the 
quiet  recluses  of  St.  Marie  Purificatrice,  wdth  everything 
to  feed  her  native  poetry  and  susceptibility,  and  nothing 
to  teach  her  anything  of  the  actual  and  ordinary  world, 
it  were  inevitable  that  the  character  of  Florelle  should 
take  its  coloring  from  the  scenes  around  her,  and  that  she 
ehould  grow  up  singularly  childlike,  imaginative,  and 
innocent  of  all  that  in  any  other  life  she  would  unavoid- 
ably have  known.  Well  educated  she  was,  through  her 
father  and  the  nuns,  but  it  was  a  semi-religious  and  pecu- 
liar education,  of  which  the  chief  literature  had  been  the 
legendary  and  sacred  poetry  of  France  and  Spain,  the 
chief  amusement  copying  the  illuminated  missals  lent  her 
by  the  nuns,  or  joining  in  the  choral  services  of  the  con- 
vent ;  an  education  that  taught  her  nothing  of  the  world 
from  which  she  was  shut  out,  and  encouraged  all  that  was 
eelf-devoted,  visionary,  and  fervid  in  her  nature,  leaving 
her  at  seventeen  as  unconscious  of  evil  as  the  youngest 
child.  I  despair  of  making  you  imagine  wliat  Florelle 
then  Avas.  Had  I  never  met  her,  I  should  have  believed 
«n  her  as  little  as  yourself,  and  would  have  discredited 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD  32l 

the  existence  of  so  poetic  a  creation  out  of  tlie  world  of 
fiction  ;  her  ethereal  delicacy,  her  sunny  gayety  when  any- 
thing amused  her,  her  intense  sensitiveness,  pained  in  a 
moment  by  a  harsh  word,  pleased  as  soon  by  a  kind  one, 
her  innocence  of  all  the  blots  and  cruelties,  artifices  and 
evils,  of  that  world  beyond  her  Nid  de  I'Aigle,  made  a 
character  strangely  new  to  me,  and  strangely  winning, 
but  which  to  you  I  despair  of  portraying :  I  could  not 
have  imagined  it.  Had  I  never  seen  her,  and  had  I  met 
with  it  in  the  pages  of  a  novel,  I  should  have  put  it  aside 
as  a  graceful  but  impossible  conception  of  romance. 

"  I  went  up  that  day  to  the  Nid  de  I'Aigle,  and  Florelle 
received  me  with  pleasure ;  perhaps  Madame  Cazot  had 
instilled  into  her  some  scepticism  that '  a  grand  seigneur,' 
as  the  woman  was  pleased  to  term  me,  would  trouble  him- 
self to  ride  up  the  mountains  from  Luz  merely  to  repeat 
his  thanks  for  an  hour's  shelter  and  a  supper  of  roasted 
chestnuts.  She  was  a  simple-minded,  good-hearted  old 
woman,  who  had  lived  all  her  life  among  the  rocks  and 
rivers  of  the  Hautes-Pyrenees,  her  longest  excursion  a 
market-day  to  Luz  or  Bagneres.  She  looked  on  her 
young  mistress  and  charge  as  a  child  —  in  truth,  Florelle 
was  but  little  more — and  thought  my  visit  paid  simply 
from  gratitude  and  courtesy,  never  dreaming  of  attrib- 
uting it  to  '  cette  beaute  hereditaire  des  L'Heris,'  which 
Bhe  was  proud  of  boasting  was  an  inalienable  heirloom  to 
the  family. 

"  I  often  repeated  my  visits ;  so  often,  that  in  a  week 
or  so  the  old  ruined  chAteau  grew  a  natural  resort  in  the 
long  summer  days,  and  Florelle  watched  for  my  coming 
from  the  deep-arched  window  where  I  had  seen  her  first, 
or  from  under  the  boughs  of  the  great  copper  beech  that 
grew  before  the  gate,  and  looked  for  me  as  regularly  as 
though  I  were  to  spend  ray  lifetime  in  the  valley  of  Luz. 
Poor  child  !  I  never  told  her  my  title,  but  I  tauglit  her 
to  call  me  by  my  christian  name.     It  used  to  sound  very 

V 


322  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD. 

pretty  Avhen  slie  said  it,  with  her  long  Southern  pronun- 
ciation—  prettier  than  it  ever  sounds  now  from  the  lipa 
of  Beatrice  Acqua  d'Oro  yonder,  in  her  softest  moments, 
when  she  plays  at  sentiment.  She  had  great  natural 
talent  for  art,  hitherto  uncultivated,  of  course,  save  by 
such  instructions  as  one  of  the  Avomen  at  the  convent, 
skilful  at  illuminating,  had  occasionally  given  her.  I 
amused  myself  with  teaching  her  to  transfer  to  paper  and 
canvas  the  scenery  she  loved  so  passionately.  I  spent 
many  hours  training  this  talent  of  hers  that  was  of  very 
unusual  calibre,  and,  with  due  culture,  might  have  ranked 
her  with  Elisabetta  Sirani  or  Rosa  Bonheur.  Sitting 
with  her  in  the  old  room,  or  under  the  beech-trees,  or  by 
the  side  of  the  torrente  that  tore  down  the  rocks  into  the 
Gave,  it  pleased  me  to  draw  out  her  unsullied  thoughts, 
to  spread  her  mind  out  before  me  like  a  book — a  pure 
book  enough,  God  knows,  with  not  even  a  stain  of  the 
world  upon  it — to  make  her  eyes  glisten  and  glow  and 
dilate,  to  fill  them  with  tears  or  laughter  at  my  will,  to 
wake  up  her  young  life  from  its  unconscious,  untroubled, 
childish  repose  to  a  new  happiness,  a  new  pain,  which  she 
felt  but  could  not  translate,  which  dawned  in  her  face  for 
me,  but  never  spoke  in  its  true  language  to  her,  ignorant 
then  of  its  very  name — it  amused  me.  Bah  !  our  amuse- 
ments are  cruel  sometimes,  and  costly  too ! 

"  It  was  at  that  time  I  took  the  head  in  pastels  w'hich 
you  have  seen,  and  she  asked  me,  in  innocent  admiration 
of  its  loveliness,  if  she  was  indeed  like  that?  —  This  night 
is  awfully  oppressive.  Is  there  water  in  that  carafe?  Is 
it  iced  ?     Push  it  to  me.     Thank  you. 

"  I  was  always  welcome  at  the  Nid  de  I'Aigle.  Old  Ca- 
zot,  with  the  instinct  of  servants  who  have  lived  with 
people  of  birth  till  they  are  as  proud  of  their  master's 
heraldry  as  though  it  were  their  oAvn,  discerned  that  I 
was  of  the  same  rank  as  her  adored  House  of  De  I'Heria 
— if  Indeed  she  admitted  any  equal  to  them  —  and  with 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD.  323 

all  the  cheery  familiarity  of  a  Frenchwoman  treated  me 
with  punctilious  deference,  being  as  thoroughly  imbued 
with  respect  and  adoration  for  the  aristocracy  as  any  of 
those  who  died  for  the  white  lilies  in  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution.  And  Florelle — Florelle  watched  for  me, 
and  counted  her  hours  by  those  I  spent  with  her.  You 
are  sure  I  had  not  read  and  played  with  women's  hearts 
so  long — women,  too,  with  a  thousand  veils  and  evasions 
and  artifices,  of  which  she  was  in  pure  ignorance  even  of 
the  existence — without  having  this  heart,  young,  unworn, 
and  unoccupied,  under  my  power  at  once,  plastic  to  mould 
as  wax,  ready  to  receive  any  impressions  at  my  hands, 
and  moulded  easily  to  my  will.  Florelle  had  read  no 
love  stories  to  help  her  to  translate  this  new  life  to  which 
I  awoke  her,  or  to  put  her  on  her  guard  against  it.  I 
went  there  often,  every  day  at  last,  teaching  my  pupil  the 
art  which  she  was  only  too  glad  and  too  eager  to  learn, 
stirring  her  vivid  imagination  with  descriptions  of  that 
brilliant  outside  world,  of  whose  pleasures,  gayeties  and 
pursuits  she  was  as  ignorant  as  any  little  gentian  flower 
on  the  rocks ;  keeping  her  spell-bound  with  glimpses  of 
its  life,  which  looked  to  her  like  fairyland,  bizarre  bal 
masque  though  it  be  to  us ;  and  pleasing  myself  with 
awakening  new  thoughts,  new  impressions,  new  emotions, 
which  swept  over  her  tell-tale  face  like  the  lights  and 
shades  over  meadow-land  as  the  sun  fades  on  and  off  it. 
She  was  a  new  study,  a  new  amusement  to  me,  after  the 
women  of  our  world,  and  I  beguiled  my  time  Avith  her^ 
not  thoughtlessly,  as  I  might  have  done,  not  too  hastily, 
as  I  should  have  done  ten  years  before,  but  pleased  with 
my  new  amusement,  and  more  charmed  with  Florelle  than 
I  at  first  knew,  though  I  confess  I  soon  wished  to  mak«* 
her  love  me,  and  soon  tried  my  best  to  make  her  do  so  — 
an  easy  task  when  one  has  had  some  practice  in  the  rose- 
hued  atmosphere  of  the  boudoir,  among  the  most  difficile 
and  the  most  brilliant  coquettes  of  Europe!     Florelle, 


324  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD. 

with  a  .:ature  singularly  loving,  and  a  mind  singularly 
imaginative,  with  no  rival  for  me  even  in  her  fancy,  sooii 
lavished  on  me  all  the  love  of  which  her  impassioned  anu 
poetic  character  was  capable.  She  did  not  know  it,  but 
I  did.  She  loved  me,  poor  child  !  —  love  more  pure,  u  '- 
Belfish,  and  fond  than  I  ever  won  before,  than  I  shall  ever 
win  again. 

"  Basta !  why  need  you  have  lighted  on  that  crayon- 
head,  and  make  me  rake  up  this  story  ?  I  loathe  looking 
at  the  past.  What  good  ever  comes  of  it  ?  A  wise  man 
lives  only  in  his  present.  '  La  vita  e  appunto  una  me- 
moria,  una  speranza,  un  punto,'  writes  the  fool  of  a  poet, 
as  though  the  bygone  memories  and  the  unrealized  hopes 
were  worth  a  straw  !  It  is  that  very  present  '  instant ' 
that  he  desjiises  which  is  available,  and  in  which,  when 
we  are  in  our  senses,  we  absorb  ourselves,  knowing  that 
that  alone  will  yield  a  fruit  worth  having.  What  are 
the  fruits  of  the  others  ?  only  Dead  Sea  apples  that 
crumble  into  ash. 

*'  I  knew  that  Florelle  loved  me ;  that  I,  and  I  alone, 
filled  both  her  imagination  and  her  heart.  I  would  not 
precipitately  startle  her  into  any  avowal  of  it.  I  liked 
to  see  it  dawn  in  her  face  and  gleam  in  her  eyes,  guile- 
lessly and  unconsciously.  It  was  a  new  pleasure  to  me,  a 
new  charm  in  that  book  of  Woman  of  which  I  had 
thought  I  knew  every  phase,  and  had  exhausted  every 
reading,  I  taught  Florelle  to  love  me,  but  I  would  not 
give  her  a  name  to  my  teaching  till  she  found  it  herself. 
I  returned  it?  O  yes,  I  loved  her,  selfishly,  as  most 
people,  men  or  women,  do  love,  let  them  say  what  they 
will;  very  selfishly,  perhaps — a  love  that  was  beneath 
her — a  love  for  which,  had  she  seen  into  my  heart,  she 
might  have  disdained  and  hated  me,  if  her  soft  nature 
could  have  been  moved  to  so  fierce  a  thing  as  hate — a 
love  that  sought  its  own  gratification,  and  thought  nothing 
of  her  welfare — a  love  not  worthy  of  her,  as  I  sometimes 
felt  then,  as  I  believe  now. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HLAD.  325 

"  I  had  been  about  six  weeks  in  the  Pyrenees  since  the 
day  I  lost  myself  en  route  from  Gavarnie ;  most  of  t!ie 
days  I  had  spent  three  or  four  hours,  often  more,  at  the 
Nid  de  I'Aigle,  giving  my  painting  lessons  to  Florelle,  or 
being  guided  by  her  among  the  beech-wooded  and  moun- 
tain passes  near  her  home.  The  dreariest  fens  and  Hats 
iniglit  have  gathered  interest  from  such  a  guide,  and  the 
glorious  beauties  of  the  Midi,  well  suited  to  her,  gained 
additional  poetry  from  her  impassioned  love  for  them, 
and  her  fond  knowledge  of  all  their  legends,  superstitions, 
histories,  and  associated  memories,  gathered  from  the  oral 
lore  of  the  peasantry,  the  cradle  songs  of  Madame  Cazot, 
and  the  stories  of  the  old  chronicles  of  the  South.  Heav- 
ens !  what  a  wealth  of  imagination,  talent,  genius,  lay  in 
her  if  I  had  not  destroyed  it ! 

"At  length  the  time  drew  near  when  my  so-called 
sojourn  at  the  Baths  must  end.  One  day  Florelle  and 
I  were  out  sketching,  as  usual ;  she  sat  under  one  of  the 
great  beeches,  within  a  few  feet  of  one  of  the  cascades 
that  fell  into  the  Gave  du  Pan,  and  I  lay  on  the  grass  by 
her,  looking  into  those  clear  gazelle  eyes  that  met  mine 
so  brightly  and  trustfully,  watching  the  progress  of  her 
brush,  and  throwing  twigs  and  stones  into  the  spray  of 
the  torrent.  I  can  remember  the  place  as  though  it  were 
yesterday,  the  splash  of  the  foam  over  the  rocks,  the 
tinkle  of  the  sheep-bells  from  the  hills,  the  scent  of  tlie 
wild  flowers  growing  round,  the  glowing  golden  light  that 
spread  over  the  woodlands,  touching  even  the  distant 
crest  of  Mount  Aigu  and  the  Pic  du  Midi.  Strange  how 
some  scenes  will  stamp  themselves  on  the  camera  of  the 
brain  never  to  be  effaced,  let  one  try  all  that  one  may. 

"  There,  that  morning,  I,  for  the  first  time  since  we  had 
met,  spoke  of  leaving  Luz,  and  of  going  back  to  that  life 
which  I  had  so  often  amused  her  by  describing.  Happy 
in  her  present,  ignorant  of  how  soon  the  scenes  so  familiar 
and  dear  to  her  would  tire  and  ])aD  on  me,  and  infinitely 
2h 


326  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

too  much  of  a  child  to  have  looked  beyond,  or  speculated 
upon  anything  which  I  had  not  spoken  of  to  her,  it  had 
not  presented  itself  to  her  that  this  sort  of  life  could  not 
go  on  for  ever ;  that  even  she  would  not  reconcile  me  long 
to  the  banishment  from  my  own  world,  and  that  in  the 
nature  of  things  we  must  either  become  more  to  each  other 
than  we  were  now,  or  part  as  strangers,  wdiom  chance  had 
thrown  together  for  a  little  time.  She  loved  me,  but,  as  I 
say,  so  innocently  and  uncalculatingly,  that  she  never  knew 
it  till  I  spoke  of  leaving  her ;  then  she  grew  very  pale, 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  shunned  mine  for  the  first 
time,  and,  as  an  anatomist  watches  the  quiver  of  pain  in 
his  victim,  so  I  watched  the  sufl^ering  of  mine.  It  was 
her  first  taste  of  the  bitterness  of  life,  and  while  1  in- 
flicted the  pain  I  smiled  at  it,  pleased  in  my  egotism  to  see 
the  power  I  had  over  her.  It  was  cruel,  I  grant  it,  but 
in  confessing  it  I  only  confess  to  what  nine  out  of  ten  men 
have  felt,  though  they  may  conceal  or  deny  it. 

"  '  You  will  miss  me,  Florelle  ? '  I  asked  her.  She  looked 
at  me  reproachfully,  wistfully,  piteously,  the  sort  of  look 
I  have  seen  in  the  eyes  of  a  dying  deer ;  too  bewildered  by 
this  sudden  mention  of  my  departure  to  answer  in  words. 
No  answer  was  needed  with  eyes  so  eloquent  as  hers,  but 
I  repeated  it  again.  I  knew  I  gave  pain,  but  I  knew,  too, 
I  should  soon  console  her.  Her  lips  quivered,  and  the 
tears  gathered  in  her  eyes ;  she  had  not  known  enough  of 
Borrow  to  have  learnt  to  dissemble  it.  I  asked  her  if  she 
loved  me  so  much  that  she  was  unwilling  to  bid  me  faro- 
well.  For  the  first  time  her  eyes  sank  beneath  mine,  and 
a  hot  painful  color  flushed  over  her  face.  Poor  child  !  if 
ever  I  have  been  loved  by  any  woman,  I  was  loved  by  her. 
Then  I  woke  her  heart  from  its  innocent  peaceful  rest, 
with  words  that  'spoke  a  language  utterly  new  to  her.  I 
sketched  to  her  a  life  with  me  that  made  her  cheeks 
glow,  and  her  lips  (juiver,  and  her  eyes  grow  dark.  She 
was  lovelier  in  those  moments  than  any  art  could  ever 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD.  827 

attempt  to  picture!  She  loved  me,  and  I  made  her  tell 
me  so  over  and  over  again.  She  put  her  fate  unhesitat- 
ingly into  my  hands,  and  rejoiced  in  the  passion  I  vowed 
her,  little  understanding  how  selfishly  I  sought  her,  little 
thinking,  in  her  ignorance  of  the  evil  of  the  world,  that 
while  she  rejoiced  in  the  fondness  I  lavished  on  her,  and 
worshipped  me  as  though  I  were  some  superior  unerring 
godlike  being,  she  was  to  me  only  a  new  toy,  only  a  pur- 
suit of  the  hour,  a  plaything,  too,  of  which  I  foresaw  I 
should  tire !  Is  n't  it  Benjamin  Constant  who  says, '  Mal- 
heureux  I'liomme  qui,  dans  le  commencement  d'un  amour, 
prevoit  avec  une  precision  cruelle  I'heure  ou  il  en  sera 
lasse'? 

"  As  it  happened,  I  had  made  that  morning  an  appoint- 
ment in  Luz  with  some  men  I  knew,  who  happened  to  be 
passing  through  it,  and  had  stopped  there  that  day  to  go 
up  the  Pic  du  Midi  the  next,  so  that  I  could  spend  only 
an  hour  or  two  with  Florelle.  I  took  her  to  her  home, 
parted  with  her  for  a  few  hours,  and  went  down  the  path. 
I  remember  how  she  stood  looking  after  me  under  tho 
heavy  gray  stone-work  of  the  gateway,  the  tendrils  of  the 
ivy  hanging  down  and  touching  her  hair  that  glistened  in 
the  sunshine  as  she  smiled  me  her  adieux.  My  words  had 
translated,  for  the  first  time,  all  the  newly-dawned  emo- 
tions that  had  lately  stii"red  in  her  heart,  while  she  knew 
not  their  name. 

"  I  soon  lost  sight  of  her  through  a  sharp  turn  of  the 
bridle-path  round  the  rocks,  and  went  on  my  way  think- 
ing of  my  new  love,  of  how  completely  I  held  the  threads 
of  her  fate  in  my  hands,  and  how  entirely  it  lay  in  my 
power  to  touch  the  chords  of  her  young  heart  into  acute 
pain  or  into  as  acute  pleasure  with  one  word  of  mine — 
of  how  utterly  I  could  mould  her  character,  her  life,  her 
fate,  whether  for  happiness  or  misery,  at  my  will.  I  loved 
her  well  enough,  if  only  for  her  uiuisual  beauty,  to  feel 
triumph  at  my  entire  power,  and  to  feel  a  tinge  of  her 


S28  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

own  poetry  and  tenderness  of  feeling  .stirring  in  nie  as  I 
went  on  under  the  green,  drooping,  fanlike  boughs  of  the 
pines,  thinking  of  Florelle  de  I'Heris. 

"'M'sieu!  permettez-moi  vous  parle  un  p'tit  mot?' 

"  Madame  Cazot's  patois  made  me  look  up,  almost 
startled  for  the  moment,  though  there  was  nothing  aston- 
ishing in  her  appearance  there,  in  her  accustomed  spot 
under  the  shade  of  a  mountain-ash  and  a  great  boulder 
of  rock,  occupied  at  her  usual  task,  washing  linen  in  the 
Gave,  as  it  foamed  and  rushed  over  its  stones.  She  raised 
herself  from  her  work  and  looked  up  at  me,  shading  her 
eyes  from  the  light  —  a  sunburnt,  wrinkled,  hardy  old 
woman,  with  her  scarlet  capulet,  her  blue  cloth  jacket, 
and  her  brown  woollen  petticoat,  so  strange  a  contrast  to 
the  figure  I  had  lately  left  under  the  gateway  of  the  Nid 
de  I'Aigle,  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  them  even  of  the 
same  sex  or  country. 

"  She  spoke  with  extreme  deference,  as  she  always  did, 
but  so  earnestly,  that  I  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and 
stopped  to  hear  what  it  might  be  she  had  to  say.  She 
was  but  a  peasant  woman,  but  she  had  a  certain  dignity 
of  manner  for  all  that,  caught,  no  doubt,  from  her  long 
service  with,  and  her  pride  in,  the  De  I'Heris. 

"'M'sieu,  I  have  no  right,  perhaps,  to  address  you  ;  you 
are  a  grand  seigneur,  and  I  but  a  poor  peasant  woman. 
Nevertheless,  I  must  speak.  I  have  a  charge  to  which  I 
shall  have  to  answer  in  the  other  world  to  God  and  to  my 
master.  M'sieu,  pardon  me  what  I  say,  but  you  love 
Ma'amselle  Florelle?' 

"  I  stared  at  the  woman,  astonished  at  her  iuterferencp 
and  annoyed  at  her  presumption,  and  motioned  her  aside 
with  my  stick.  But  she  placed  herself  in  the  path — a 
narrow  path — on  which  two  people  could  not  have  stood 
without  one  or  other  going  into  the  Gave,  and  stopped  me 
resolutely  and  respectfully,  shading  her  eyes  from  the 
Bun,  and  looking  steadily  at  my  face. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-CEAD.  329 

"'M'sieu,  a  little  while  ago,  in  the  gateway  yonder, 
hhen  you  parted  with  Ma'amselle  Florelle,  I  was  coming 
nut  l>ehind  you  to  bring  my  linen  to  the  river,  and  I  saw 
you  take  her  in  your  arms  and  kiss  her  many  times,  and 
whisper  to  her  that  you  would  come  again  "  ce  soir ! " 
Then,  m'sieu,  I  knew  that  you  must  love  my  little  lady, 
or,  at  least,  must  have  made  her  love  you.  I  have 
thought  her  —  living  always  with  her — but  a  beautiful 
child  still ;  but  you  have  found  her  a  beautiful  woman, 
and  loved  her,  or  taught  her  love,  m'sieu.  Pardon  me  if 
I  wrong  your  honor,  but  my  master  left  her  in  my  charge, 
and  I  am  an  ignorant  old  peasant,  ill  fitted  for  such  a 
ti'ust ;  but  is  this  love  of  yours  such  as  the  Sieur  de 
I'Heris,  were  he  now  on  earth,  would  put  his  hand  in 
your  own  and  thank  you  for,  or  is  it  such  that  he  would 
wash  out  its  insult  in  your  blood  or  his  ? ' 

"  Her  words  amazed  me  for  a  moment,  first  at  the  pre- 
sumption of  an  interference  of  which  I  had  never  dreamt, 
next  at  the  iron  firmness  with  which  this  old  woman, 
nothing  daunted,  spoke  as  though  the  blood  of  a  race  of 
kings  ran  in  her  veins.  I  laughed  a  little  at  the  absurd- 
ity of  this  cross-questioning  from  her  to  me,  and  not 
choosing  to  bandy  words  with  her,  bade  her  move  aside ; 
but  her  eyes  blazed  like  fire ;  she  stood  firm  as  the  earth 
itself. 

"  *  M'sieu,  answer  me !  You  love  Ma'amselle  Florelle 
—  you  have  asked  her  in  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  smiled  involuntarily  : 

"  '  My  good  woman,  men  of  my  class  don't  marry  every 
pretty  face  they  meet ;  we  are  not  so  fond  of  the  institu- 
tion. You  mean  well,  I  know ;  at  the  same  time,  you 
are  deunedly  impertinent,  and  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
interference.  Have  the  goodness  to  let  me  pass,  if  you 
pletise.' 

"  But  she  would  not  move.  She  folded  her  arms  across 
her  chest,  quivering  from  head  to  foot  with  passion,  her 
28* 


830  THE    STORY   OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

deep-set  eyes   flashing  like  coals  under  her  bushy  eye- 
brows. 

"  '  M'sieu,  I  understand  you  well  enough.  The  house 
of  the  L'Heris  is  fallen,  ruined,  and  beggared,  and  you 
deem  dishonor  may  approach  it  unrebiiked  and  unre- 
venged.  Listen  to  me,  m'sieu  ;  I  am  but  a  woman,  it  is 
true,  and  old,  but  I  swore  by  Heaven  and  Our  Lady  to 
the  Sieur  de  I'Heris,  when  he  lay  dying  yonder,  years 
ago,  that  I  would  serve  the  child  he  left,  as  my  forefathers 
had  served  his  in  peace  and  war  for  centuries,  and  keep 
and  guard  her  as  best  I  might  dearer  than  my  own  heart's 
blood.  Listen  to  me.  Before  this  love  of  yours  shall 
breathe  another  word  into  her  ear  to  scorch  and  sully  it ; 
before  your  lips  shall  ever  meet  hers  again ;  before  you 
say  again  to  a  De  I'Heris  poor  and  powerless,  what  you 
would  never  have  dared  to  say  to  a  De  I'Heris  rich  and 
powerful,  I  will  defend  her  as  the  eagles  by  the  Nid  de 
I'Aigle  defend  their  young.  You  shall  only  reach  her 
across  my  dead  body  ! ' 

"  She  spoke  with  the  vehemence  and  passionate  gesti- 
culation of  a  Southern  ;  in  her  patois,  it  is  true,  and  with 
rude  eloquence,  but  there  was  an  odd  timbre  of  pathos  in 
her  voice,  harsh  though  it  was,  and  a  certain  wild  dignity 
al)out  her  through  the  very  earnestness  and  passion  that 
inspired  her.  I  told  her  she  was  mad,  and  would  have 
put  her  out  of  my  path,  but,  planting  herself  before  me, 
she  laid  hold  of  my  arm  so  firmly  that  I  could  not  have 
pushed  forwards  without  violence,  which  I  would  not 
have  used  to  a  woman,  and  a  woman,  moreover,  as  old  a? 
she  was. 

"  '  Listen  to  one  word  more,  m'sieu.  I  know  not  what 
title  you  may  bear  in  your  own  country,  but  I  saw  a 
coronet  upon  your  handkerchief  the  other  day,  and  I  can 
tell  you  are  a  grand  seigneur — you  have  the  air  of  it,  the 
manner.  M'sieu,  you  can  have  many  women  to  love  you 
cannot  you  spare  this  one?  you  must  have  many  plea 


THE    SrORY  OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD.  331 

sures,  pursuits,  eujoyments  in  your  world,  can  you  not 
leave  me  this  single  treasure?  Think,  m'sieu!  If 
Ma'amselle  Florelle  loves  you  now,  she  will  love  you  onl^ 
the  dearer  as  years  go  on  ;  and  you,  you  will  tire  of  her, 
weary  of  her,  want  change,  fresh  beauty,  new  excite- 
ment— you  must  know  that  you  Avill,  or  why  should  you 
shrink  from  the  bondage  of  marriage? — you  will  weary 
of  her ;  you  will  neglect  her  first  and  desert  her  after- 
wards ;  what  will  be  the  child's  life  tlienf  Think  !  You 
have  done  her  cruel  harm  enough  now  with  your  wooing 
words,  why  will  you  do  her  more  ?  What  is  your  love 
beside  hers  ?  If  you  have  heart  or  conscience,  you  cannot 
dare  to  contrast  them  together ;  she  would  give  up  every- 
thing for  you,  and  you  would  give  up  nothing !  M'sieu, 
Florelle  is  not  like  the  women  of  your  world  ;  she  is  inno 
cent  of  evil  as  the  holy  saints;  those  who  meet  her  should 
guard  her  from  the  knowledge,  and  not  lead  her  to  it. 
Were  the  Sieur  De  I'Heris  living  now,  were  her  House 
powerful  as  I  have  known  them,  would  you  have  dared  or 
dreamt  of  seeking  her  as  you  do  now?  M'sieu,  he  who 
wrongs  trust,  betrays  hospitality,  and  takes  advantage  of 
that  very  purity,  guilelessness,  and  want  of  due  protec- 
tion which  should  be  the  best  and  strongest  appeal  to 
every  man  of  chivalry  and  honor — he,  whoever  he  bo, 
the  De  I'Heris  would  have  held,  as  what  he  is.  a  coward  ! 
Will  you  not  now  have  pity  upon  the  child,  and  let  her  go  ? ' 
"  I  have  seldom  been  moved  in,  never  been  swayed 
from,  any  pursuit  or  any  purpose,  whether  of  love,  or 
pleasure,  or  ambition  ;  but  something  in  old  Cazot's  words 
stirred  me  strangely,  more  strangely  still  from  the  daring 
and  singularity  of  the  speaker.  Her  intense  love  for 
her  young  charge  gave  her  pathos,  eloquence,  and  even  a 
certain  rude  majesty,  as  she  spoke ;  her  bronzed  wrinkkd 
features  worked  with  emoti(ms  she  could  not  repress,  and 
hot  tears  fell  over  her  hard  cheeks.  I  felt  that  what  she 
said  was  true ;  that  as  surely  as  the  night  follows  the  day 


332  THE    STORY  OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAD. 

would  weariness  of  it  succeed  to  my  love  for  Florelle, 
that  to  the  hospitality  I  had  so  readily  received  I  had,  in 
truth,  given  but  an  ill  return,  and  that  I  had  deliberately 
taken  advantage  of  the  very  ignorance  of  the  world  and 
faith  in  me  which  should  have  most  appealed  to  my 
honor.  I  knew  that  what  she  said  was  true,  and  this 
epithet  of  '  coward '  hit  me  harder  from  the  lips  of  a 
woman,  on  whom  her  sex  would  not  let  me  avenge  it, 
with  whom  my  conscience  would  not  let  me  dispute  it, 
than  it  would  have  done  from  any  man.  I  called  a  cow- 
ard by  an  old  peasant  woman  !  absurd  idea  enough,  was  n't 
it?  It  is  a  more  absurd  one  still  that  I  could  not  listen 
to  her  unmoved,  that  her  words  touched  me — how  or  why 
I  could  not  have  told  —  stirred  up  in  me  something  of 
weakness,  unselfishness,  or  chivalrousness  —  I  know  not 
what  exactly  —  that  prompted  me  for  once  to  give  up  ray 
own  egotistical  evanescent  passions  and  act  to  Florelle  as 
though  all  the  males  of  her  house  were  on  earth  to  make 
me  render  account  of  my  acts.  At  old  Cazot's  words  I 
shrank  for  once  from  my  own  motives  and  my  own  desires, 
shrank  from  classing  Florelle  with  the  cocottes  of  my 
world,  from  bringing  her  down  to  their  level  and 
their  life. 

"  'You  will  have  pity  on  her,  m'sieu,  and  go?'  asked 
old  Cazot,  more  softly,  as  she  looked  in  my  face. 

"  I  did  not  answer  her,  but  put  her  aside  out  of  my  way, 
went  down  the  mountain-path  to  where  my  horse  was  left 
croi^ping  the  grass  on  the  level  ground  beneath  a  plane- 
tree,  and  rode  at  a  gallop  into  Luz  without  looking  back 
at  the  gray-turreted  ruins  of  the  Nid  de  I'Aigle. 

"  And  I  left  Luz  that  night  without  seeing  Florelle  de 
I'Heris  again — a  tardy  kindness  —  one,  perhaps,  as  cruel 
as  the  cruelty  from  which  old  Cazot  had  i:)rotected  her. 
Don't  you  think  I  was  a  fool,  indeed,  for  once  in  my  life, 
to  listen  to  an  old  woman's  prating?  Call  me  so  if  you 
like,  I  shall  not  dispute  it;  we  hardly  know  when  wi;  arh 


THE    STORY   OP    A    CRAYON-UEAD.  333 

fools,  and  Avhen  wise  men !     Well !  I  have  not  been  much 
given  to  such  weaknesses. 

"I  left  Luz,  sending  a  letter  tu  Florelle,  in  which  I 
bade  her  farewell,  and  entreated  her  to  forget  me — an 
entreaty  which,  while  I  made  it,  I  felt  would  not  be 
obeyed — one  which,  in  the  selfishness  of  ray  heart,  I  dare 
say,  I  hoped  might  not  be.  I  went  back  to  my  old  diplo- 
matic and  social  life,  to  my  customary  pursuits,  amuse- 
ments, and  ambitions,  turning  over  the  leaf  of  my  life 
that  contained  my  sojourn  in  the  Pyrenees,  as  you  turn 
over  the  page  of  a  romance  to  which  you  will  never  recur. 
I  led  the  same  life,  occupied  myself  with  my  old  ambi- 
tions, and  enjoyed  my  old  pleasures ;  but  I  could  not 
forget  Florelle  as  wholly  as  I  wished  and  tried  to  do.  I 
had  not  usually  been  troubled  with  such  memories  ;  if 
unwelcome,  I  could  generally  thrust  them  aside ;  but 
Florelle  I  did  not  forget ;  the  more  I  saw  of  other  women 
the  sweeter  and  brighter  seemed  by  contrast  her  sensitive, 
delicate  nature,  unsullied  by  the  world,  and  unstained  by 
artifice  and  falsehood.  The  longer  time  went  on,  the 
more  I  regretted  having  given  her  up  —  perhaps  on  no 
better  principle  than  that  on  which  a  child  cares  most  for 
the  toy  he  cannot  have ;  perhaps  because,  away  from  her, 
I  realized  I  had  lost  the  purest  and  the  strongest  love  I 
had  ever  won.  In  the  whirl  of  my  customary  life  I  some- 
times wondered  how  she  had  received  my  letter,  and  how 
far  the  iron  had  burnt  into  her  young  heart — wondered 
if  she  had  joined  the  Sisters  of  Sainte  Marie  Purificatrice, 
or  still  led  her  solitary  life  among  the  rocks  and  beech- 
woods  of  Kid  de  I'Aigle.  I  often  thought  of  her,  little 
as  the  life  I  led  was  conducive  to  regretful  or  romantic 
thoughts.  At  lejigth  my  desire  to  see  her  again  grew 
uuirovernable.  I  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  refusin<? 
myself  what  I  wished  ;  a  man  is  a  fool  who  does,  if  his 
wishes  are  in  any  degree  attainable.  And  at  the  end  of 
the  season  I  went  over  to  Paris,  au  J  down  again  once 


334  THE    STORY  OP    A    CRAYON-IIEAD. 

more  into  the  Midi.  I  reached  Luz,  lying  in  the  warm 
golden  Pyrenean  light  as  I  had  left  it,  and  took  once 
more  the  old  familiar  road  up  the  hills  to  the  Nid  de 
I'Aigle.  There  had  been  no  outward  change  from  the 
year  that  had  flown  by ;  there  drooped  the  fan-like 
branches  of  the  pines ;  there  rushed  the  Gave  over  its 
rocky  bed ;  there  came  the  silvery  sheep-bell  chimes 
<lown  the  mountain-sides ;  there,  over  hill  and  wood, 
streamed  the  mellow  glories  of  the  Southern  sunlight. 
There  is  something  unutterably  painful  in  the  sight  of 
any  place  after  one's  lengthened  absence,  wearing  the 
same  smile,  lying  in  the  same  sunlight.  I  rode  on, 
picturing  the  flush  of  gladness  that  would  dawn  in  Flo- 
relle's  face  at  the  sight  of  me,  thinking  that  Mme.  Cazot 
should  not  part  me  from  her  again,  even,  I  thought,  as  I 
saw  the  old  gray  turrets  above  the  beech-woods,  if  I  paid 
old  Cazot's  exacted  penalty  of  marriage!  I  loved  Flo- 
relle  more  deeply  than  I  had  done  twelve  months  before. 
*  L'absence  allument  les  grandes  passions  et  eteignent  lea 
petites,'  they  say.     It  had  been  the  reverse  with  me. 

"  I  rode  up  the  bridle-path  and  passed  through  the  old 
gateway.  There  was  an  unusual  stillness  about  the  place; 
nothing  but  the  roar  of  the  torrent  near,  and  the  songs  of 
the  birds  in  the  branches  speaking  in  the  summer  air. 
My  impatience  to  see  Florelle,  or  to  hear  her,  grew  un- 
governable. The  door  stood  open.  I  groped  my  way 
through  the  passage  and  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  old 
room.  Under  the  oriel  window,  where  I  had  seen  her 
first,  she  lay  on  a  little  couch.  I  saw  her  again  —  but 
how  !  My  God !  to  the  day  of  my  death  I  shall  never 
forget  her  face  as  I  saw  it  then ;  it  was  turned  from 
me,  and  her  hair  streamed  over  her  pillows,  but  as 
the  sunlight  fell  upon  it,  I  knew  well  enough  what  was 
written  there.  Old  Cazot,  sitting  by  the  bed  with  her 
head  on  her  arms,  looked  up,  and  came  towards  me, 
forcing  me  back. 


THE    STORY    OP    A    CRAYON-IIEAD.  335 

"*  You  are  come  at  last,  to  see  her  die.  Look  on  your 
work — look  well  at  it — and  then  go;  with  my  curse  upon 
you!' 

"  I  shook  off  her  grasp,  and  forcing  my  way  towards 
the  window,  threw  myself  down  hy  Florelle's  bed ;  till 
then  I  never  knew  how  well  I  loved  her.  My  voice  awoke 
her  from  her  sleep,  and,  with  a  wild  cry  of  joy,  she  started 
up,  weak  as  she  was,  and  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck, 
clinging  to  me  with  her  little  hands,  and  crying  to  me 
deliriously  not  to  leave  her  while  she  lived — to  stay  with 
her  till  death  should  take  her;  where  had  I  been  so  long? 
why  had  I  come  so  late?  So  late!  —  those  piteous  words! 
As  I  held  her  in  my  arms,  unconscious  from  the  shock, 
and  saw  the  pitiless  marks  that  disease,  the  most  hopeless 
and  the  most  cruel,  had  made  on  the  face  that  I  had  left 
fair,  bright,  and  full  of  life  as  any  child's,  I  felt  the  full 
bitterness  of  that  piteous  reproach,  '  Why  had  I  come  so 
late?' 

"  What  need  to  tell  you  more.  Florelle  de  I'Heris  was 
dying,  and  I  had  killed  her.  The  child  that  1  had  loved 
so  selfishly  had  loved  me  with  all  the  concentrated  ten- 
derness of  her  isolated  and  impassioned  nature  ;  the  letter 
I  wrote  bidding  her  farewell  had  given  her  her  death- 
blow. They  told  me  that  from  the  day  she  received  that 
letter  everything  lost  its  interest  for  her.  She  Avould  sit 
for  hours  looking  down  the  road  to  Luz,  as  though  watch- 
ing Avearily  for  one  who  never  came,  or  kneeling  before 
the  pictures  I  had  left  as  before  some  altar,  praying  to 
Heaven  to  take  care  of  me,  and  bless  me,  and  let  her  see 
me  once  again  before  she  died.  Consumption  had  killed 
her  mother  in  her  youth  ;  during  the  chill  winter  at  the 
Nid  de  I'Aiglc  the  hereditary  disease  settled  uj)on  her. 
When  I  found  her  she  was  dying  fast.  All  the  medical 
aid,  all  the  alleviations,  luxuries,  resources,  that  money 
could  procure,  to  ward  off  the  death  I  would  have  given 
twenty  years  of  my  life  to  avert,  I  lavished  on  her.  but 


336  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-IIEAR. 

they  were  useless;  for  my  consolation  they  told  me  that, 
used  a  few  months  earlier,  they  would  have  saved  her! 
She  lingered  three  weeks,  fading  away  like  a  flower 
gathered  before  its  fullest  bloom.  Each  day  was  torture 
to  me.  I  knew  enough  of  the  disease  to  know  from  the 
first  there  was  no  hope  for  her  or  me.  Those  long  terrible 
night-hours,  when  she  lay  with  her  head  upon  my  shoul- 
der, and  her  little  hot  thin  hands  in  mine,  while  I  listened, 
uncertain  whether  every  breath  was  not  the  last,  or 
whether  life  was  not  already  fled !  By  God !  I  cannot 
think  of  them ! 

One  of  those  long  summer  nights  Florelle  died  ;  hapjiy 
with  me,  loving  and  forgiving  me  to  the  last ;  speaking 
to  the  last  of  that  reunion  in  which  she,  in  her  innocent 
faith,  believed  and  hoped,  according  to  the  promise  of  her 
creed  ! — died  with  her  hands  clasped  round  my  neck,  and 
her  eyes  looking  up  to  mine,  till  the  last  ray  of  light  was 
quenched  in  them — died  while  the  morning  dawn  rose  in 
the  east  and  cast  a  golden  radiance  on  her  face,  the  herald 
of  a  day  to  which  she  never  awoke ! " 

There  was  a  dead  silence  between  us ;  the  Arno  splashed 
against  the  wall  below,  murmuring  its  eternal  song  be- 
neath its  bridge,  while  the  dark  heavy  clouds  drifted  over 
the  sky  with  a  sullen  roll  of  thunder.  He  lay  back  in 
his  chair,  the  deep  shadow  of  the  balcony  pillar  hiding 
his  face  from  me,  and  his  voice  quivered  painfully  as  he 
spoke  the  last  words  of  his  story.  He  was  silent  for  many 
minutes,  and  so  was  I,  regretting  that  my  careless  ques- 
tion had  unfolded  a  page  out  of  his  life's  history  written 
in  characters  so  painful  to  him.  Such  skeletons  dwell  in 
the  hearts  of  most ;  hands  need  be  tender  that  di.<entomb 
them  and  drag  out  to  daylight  ashes  so  mournful  and  so 
grievous,  guarded  so  tenaciously,  hidden  so  jealously. 
Each  of  us  is  tender  over  his  own,  but  who  does  not  think 


THE    STOKY    OF    A    CllA YON-IIEAD.  337 

his  brother's  fit  subject  for  jest,  for  gibe,  foi  mocking 
dance  of  death  ? 

He  raised  himself  with  a  laugh,  but  his  lips  looked 
white  as  death  as  he  drank  down  a  draught  of  the  Her- 
mitage. 

"  Well !  what  say  you :  is  the  maxim  right,  y-a-t-il 
femmes  etfciimes  f  Caramba !  why  need  you  have  pitched 
upon  that  portfolio?  —  There  are  the  lights  in  the  Acqua 
d'Oro's  palace;  we  must  go,  or  we  shall  get  into  dis- 
grace." 

We  went,  and  Beatrice  Acqua  d'Oro  talked  very  ardent 
Italian  to  him,  and  the  Comtesse  Bois  de  Sandal  re- 
marked to  me  what  a  brilliant  and  successful  man  Lord 

was,  but  how  unimpreseiionable !  —  as  cold  and  as 

glittering  as  ice.  Nothing  had  ever  made  him /eeZ,  she 
was  quite  certain,  pretty  complimentary  nonsense  though 
he  often  talked.  What  would  the  Marchesa  and  the 
Comtesse  have  said,  I  wonder,  had  I  told  them  of  that 
little  grave  under  the  Pyrenean  beech-woods?  So  much 
does  the  world  know  of  any  of  us !  In  the  lives  of  all 
men  are  doubled-down  pages  written  on  in  secret,  folded 
out  of  sight,  forgotten  as  they  make  other  entries  in  the 
diary,  and  never  read  by  their  fellows,  only  glanced  at 
by  themselves  in  some  midnight  hour  of  solitude. 

Basta !  they  are  painful  reading,  my  friends.  Don't 
you  find  them  so?  Let  us  leave  the  skeletons  in  the 
closet,  the  pictures  in  the  portfolio,  the  doubled-down 
pages  in  the  locked  diary,  and  go  to  Beatrice  Acqua 
d'Oro's,  where  the  lights  are  burning  gayly.  What  is 
Madame  Bois  de  Sandal,  nee  Dashwood,  singing  in  the 
music  room  ? 

Tlic  tender  grace  of  a  day  tliat  is  dead 
Will  never  couic  back  to  nic ! 

That  is  the  burden  of  many  songs  sung  in  this  world, 
for  some  dead  flowers  strew  most  paths,  and  grass  growa 
29  W 


338  THE    STORY    OF    A    CRAYON-HEAD. 

over  myriad  graves,  and  many  leaves  are  folded  down  in 
many  lives,  I  fear.  And — retrospection  is  very  idle,  my 
good  fellow,  and  regret  is  as  bad  as  the  tic,  and  flirting  is 
deucedly  pleasant;  the  white  Hermitage  we  drank  to- 
night is  gone,  we  know,  but  are  there  no  other  bottles  left 
of  wine  every  whit  as  good  ?  Shall  we  waste  our  time 
sighing  after  spilt  lees  ?  Surely  not.  And  yet — ah  me  I 
— the  dead  fragrance  of  those  vines  that  yielded  us  the 
golden  nectar  of  our  youth ! 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  VICQ  D'AZYR; 


OR, 

"  NOT  AT  ALL  A  PROPER  PERSON." 

[ION  AMI,  do  you  consider  the  possession  of  sis- 
ters an  agreeable  addition  to  anybody's  exist- 
ence? /  hold  it  very  intensely  the  reverse. 
Who  puts  a  man  down  so  spitefully  as  his  sisters  ?  Who 
refuses  so  obstinately  to  see  any  good  in  the  Nazarene 
they  have  known  from  their  nurseries  ?  Who  snubs  him 
so  contumaciously,  when  he 's  a  little  chap  in  jackets  and 
they  young  ladies  already  out  ?  AVho  worries  him  so 
pertinaciously  to  marry  their  pet  friend,  "  who  has  ten 
thousand  a  year,  dear !  Red  hair  ?  I  'm  sure  she  has 
not !  It 's  the  most  lovely  auburn !  But  you  never  see 
any  beauty  in  refined  women  ! "  Who,  if  you  incline 
lowards  a  pretty  little  ineligible,  rakes  up  so  laboriously 
every  scrap  of  gossip  detrimental  to  her,  and  pours  into 
your  ear  the  delightful  intelligence  that  she  has  been 
engaged  to  Powell  of  the  Grays,  is  a  shocking  flirt,  wears 
false  teeth,  is  full  five  years  older  than  she  says  she  is, 
and  has  most  objectionable  connections?  Who,  I  should 
like  to  know,  does  any  and  all  of  these  things,  my  good 
fellow,  so  amiably  and  unremittingly  as  your  sisters? 
till  —  some  day  of  grace,  perhaps  —  you  make  a  telling 
speech  at  St.  Stephen's,  and  fling  a  second-hand  aroma  of 
distinction  upon  them  ;  or  marry  a  co-heiress  and  lady- 
in-her-own-right,  and  they  raffoleid  of  that  charming 
creature,  speculating  on  liiu  desirability  of  bi'liig  invited 


340  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D  AZYR. 

to  your  house  when  the  men  are  down  for  September. 
Then,  what  a  dear  fellow  you  become!  they  always  were 
so  fond  of  you !  a  little  wild !  oh,  yes !  but  they  are  so 
glad  you  are  changed,  and  think  more  seriously  now !  it 
was  only  from  a  real  interest  in  your  welfare  that  they 
used  to  grieve,  &c.,  &c. 

My  sisters  were  my  natural  enemies,  I  remember,  when 
I  was  in  the  daisy  age  and  exposed  to  their  thraldom ; 
they  were  so  blandly  superior,  so  ineffably  condescending, 
and  wielded,  with  such  smiling  dexterity,  that  feminine 
power  of  torture  known  familiarly  as  "  nagging ! "  Now, 
of  course,  they  leave  me  in  peace ;  but  from  my  earliest 
to  my  emancipated  years  they  were  my  natural  enemies. 
I  might  occasionally  excite  the  enmity,  it  is  possible.  I 
remember,  when  I  was  aged  eight,  covering  Constance,  a 
stately  brunette,  with  a  mortifying  amount  of  confusion, 
by  asking  her,  as  she  welcomed  a  visitor  with  effusion, 
why  she  said  she  was  delighted  to  see  her  when  she  had 
cried  "  There 's  that  odious  woman  again  ! "  as  Ave  saw  the 
carriage  drive  up.  I  have  a  criminal  recollection  of 
taking  Gwendolina's  fan,  fresh  from  Howell  and  James's, 
and  stripping  it  of  its  gold-powdered  down  before  her 
face  ere  she  could  rush  to  its  rescue,  as  an  invaluable 
medium  in  the  manufacture  of  mayflies.  I  also  have  a 
dim  and  guilty  recollection  of  saying  to  the  Hon.  George 
Cursitt,  standing  then  in  the  interesting  position  of  my 
prospective  brother-in-law,  "  Mr.  Cui'sitt,  Agncta  does  n't 
care  one  straw  for  you.  I  heard  her  saying  so  last  night 
to  Con ;  and  that  if  you  were  n't  so  near  the  title,  she 
would  never  have  accepted  you  ;"  which  revelation  ino})- 
portunely  brought  that  desirable  alliance  to  an  end,  and 
Olympian  thunders  on  my  culprit's  head. 

I  liad  my  sins,  doubtless,  but  they  were  more  than 
avenged  on  me ;  my  sisters  were  my  natural  enemies,  and 
I  never  knew  of  any  man's  who  weren't  so,  more  or  less. 
All  '  uiy  good  sirs,  thusu  domesticities  are  all  of  tiieui 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR.  3^1 

hvirrid  bores,  and  how  any  man,  happily  and  thrice 
blessedly  free  from  them,  can  take  the  very  v/orst  of  them 
voluntarily  on  his  head  by  the  Gate  of  Marriage  (which 
differs  thus  remarkably  from  a  certain  Gate  at  Jerusalem, 
that  at  the  one  the  camels  kneel  down  to  be  lightened  of 
all  their  burdens  ere  they  can  pass  through  it;  at  the 
other,  the  poor  human  animal  kneels  down  to  be  loaded 
with  all  his  ere  he  is  permitted  to  enter),  does  pass  my 
comprehension,  I  confess.  I  might  amply  avenge  the 
injuries  of  my  boyhood  received  from  mesdemoiselles  mes 
soiurs.  Could  I  not  tell  Gwendolina  of  the  pot  of  money 
dropped  by  her  caro  sposo  over  the  Cesarewitch  Stakes? 
Could  I  not  intimate  to  Agneta  where  her  Right  Honor- 
able lord  and  master  spent  the  small  hours  last  night, 
when  popularly  supposed  to  be  nodding  on  the  Treasury 
benches  in  the  service  of  the  state  ?  Could  I  not  rend 
the  pride  of  Constance,  by  casually  asking  monsieur  her 
husband,  as  I  sip  her  coffee  in  her  drawing-room  this 
evening,  who  was  that  very  pretty  blonde  with  him  at  the 
Crystal  Palace  yesterday  ?  the  blonde  being  as  well  known 
about  town  as  any  other  star  of  the  demi-monde.  Of 
course  I  could :  but  I  am  magnanimous ;  I  can  toe 
thoroughly  sympathize  with  those  poor  fellows.  My 
vengeance  would  recoil  on  innocent  heads,  so  I  am  mag- 
nanimous and  silent. 

My  sisters  have  long  ceased  to  be  mesdemoiselles,  they 
have  become  mesdames,  in  that  transforming  crucible  of 
marriage  in  which,  assuredly,  all  that  glitters  is  not  gold, 
])ut  in  which  much  is  swamped,  and  crushed,  and  fused 
with  uncongenial  metal,  and  from  which  the  elixir  of 
happiness  but  rarely  exhales,  whatever  feminine  al- 
cliemists,  who  patronize  the  hymeneal  furnace,  may 
choose  to  assure  us  to  the  contrary.  My  sisters  are  in- 
disputably very  fine  women,  and  develop  in  full  bloom 
all  those  essential  qualities  which  their  moral  and  mental 
trainers  sedulously  instilled  into  them  when  they  were 


342  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR. 

limited  to  the  school-room  and  thorough-bass,  Gaicia  and 
an  "  expurgated  "  Shakspeare,  the  society  of  Mademoiselle 
Colletmonte  and  Friiulein  von  Engel,  and  the  occasional 
refection  of  a  mild,  religious,  respectably-twaddling  fiction 
of  the  milk-and-water,  pious-tendency,  nursery-chronicling, 
and  grammar-disregarding  class,  nowadays  indited  for 
the  mental  improvement  of  a  commonplace  generation 
in  general,  and  growing  young  ladies  in  particular.  My 
sistei's  are  women  of  the  world  to  perfection ;  indeed,  for 
talent  in  refrigerating  with  a  glance  ;  in  expressing  dis- 
dain of  a  toilette  or  a  ton  by  an  upraised  eyebrow ;  in 
assuming  a  various  impenetrable  plait-il  ?  expression  at  a 
moment's  notice;  in  sweeping  past  intimate  friends  with 
a  charming  unconsciousness  of  their  existence,  when  such 
unconsciousness  is  expedient  or  desirable ;  in  reducing  an 
unwished-for  intruder  into  an  instantaneous  and  agonizing 
sense  of  his  own  de  trop-ism  and  insignificance  —  in  all 
such  accomplishments  and  acquirements  necessary  to 
existence  in  all  proper  worlds,  I  think  they  may  be 
matched  with  the  best-bred  lady  to  be  found  any  day, 
from  April  to  August,  between  Berkeley  Square  and 
Wilton  Crescent.  Constance,  now  Lady  Marechale,  is  of 
a  saintly  turn,  and  touched  with  fashionable  fanaticism, 
pets  evangelical  bishops  and  ragged  school-boys,  drives  to 
special  services,  and  is  called  our  noble  and  Christian 
patroness  by  physicians  and  hon.  sees.,  holds  doctrinal 
points  and  strong  tracts,  mixed  together  in  equal  propor- 
tion, an  infallible  chloride  of  lime  for  the  disinfectance 
of  our  polluted  globe,  and  appears  to  receive  celestial 
telegrams  of  indisputable  veracity  and  charming  acri- 
mony concerning  the  destiny  of  the  vengeful  contents  of 
the  Seven  Vials.  Agneta,  now  Mrs.  Albany  Protocol,  is 
a  Cabinet  Ministress,  and  a  second  Duchesse  de  Longue- 
ville  (in  her  own  estimation  at  the  least)  ;  is  "  strengthen- 
ing her  party"  when  she  issues  her  dinner  invitations, 
whispers  awfully  of  a  "crisis"  when  even  penny-paper 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    d'aZYR.  343 

leaders  can't  get  up  a  breeze,  and  spends  her  existence  in 
"  pushing"  poor  Protocol,  who,  thorough  Englishman  that 
he  is,  considers  it  a  point  of  honor  to  stand  still  in  all 
paths  with  praiseworthy  Britannic  obstinacy  and  opticism. 
Gv.-endolina,  now  Lady  Frederic  Farniente,  is  a  butterfly 
of  fashion,  has  delicate  health,  affects  dilettanteism,  is 
interested  by  nothing,  has  many  other  charming  minau- 
deries,  and  lives  in  an  exclusive  circle  —  so  tremendously 
exclusive,  indeed,  that  it  is  possible  she  may  at  last  draw 
the  cordon  sanitaire  so  very  tight,  that  she  will  be  left  alone 
with  the  pretty  woman  her  mirrors  reflect. 

They  have  each  of  them  attained  to  what  the  world 
calls  a  "good  position"  — an  eminence  the  world  dearly 
reveres ;  if  you  can  climb  to  it,  do ;  never  mind  what  dirt 
may  cling  to  your  feet,  or  what  you  may  chance  to  pull 
down  in  your  ascent,  no  questions  will  be  asked  you  at 
the  top,  when  you  wave  your  flag  victoriously  from  a 
olateau  at  a  good  elevation.  They  haven't  all  their  am- 
bitions—  who  has?  If  a  fresh  Alexander  conquered  the 
world  he  would  fret  out  his  life  for  a  standing-place  to  be 
jible  to  try  Archimedes'  little  experiment  on  his  newly- 
won  globe.  Lady  Marcchale  dies  for  entrance  to  certain 
salons  which  are  closed  to  her ;  she  is  but  a  Baronet's 
wife,  and,  though  so  heavenly-minded,  has  some  weak- 
nesses of  earth.  Mrs.  Protocol  grieves  because  she  thinks 
a  grateful  country  ought  to  wreathe  her  lord's  brow  with 
laurels — Anglice,  strawberry-leaves  —  and  the  country 
remains  ungrateful,  and  the  brows  bare.  Lady  Frederic 
frets  because  her  foe  and  rival.  Lady  Maria  Fitz-Sachet, 
has  footmen  an  inch  taller  than  her  own.  They  have  n't 
all  their  ambitions  satisfied.  We  are  too  occupied  with 
kicking  our  dear  friends  and  neighbors  down  off" the  rounds 
of  the  social  ladder  to  advance  ourselves  always  perhaps 
as  entirely  as  we  otherwise  might  do.  But  still  they 
occupy  "  unexceptionable  positions,"  and  from  those  forti- 
fied and  impregnable  citadels  are  very  severe  upon  thoso 


344  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    d'aZYR. 

who  are  not,  and  very  jealous  of  those  who  are,  similarly 
favored  by  fortune.  When  St.  Peter  lets  ladies  through 
the  celestial  portals,  he  '11  never  please  them  unless  he 
locks  out  all  their  acquaintance,  and  indulges  them  with 
a  gratifying  peep  at  the  rejected  candidates. 

The  triad  regard  each  other  after  the  manner  of  ladies  ; 
that  is  to  say,  Lady  Marechale  holds  Mrs.  Protocol  and 
Lady  Frederic  "  frivolous  and  worldly  ; "  Lady  Frederic 
gives  them  both  one  little  supercilious  expressive  epithet, 
"precieuses;"  Mrs.  Protocol  considers  Lady  Marechale  a 
"  pharisee,"  and  Lady  Frederic  a  "  butterfly  ; "  —  in  a  word, 
there  is  that  charming  family  love  to  one  another  which 
ladies  so  delight  to  evince,  that  I  suppose  we  must  excuse 
them  for  it  on  the  plea  that 

'Tis  their  nature  to  ! 

which  Dr.  Watts  puts  forward  so  amiably  and  grammat- 
ically in  excuse  for  the  bellicose  propensities  of  the  canine 
race,  but  which  is  never  remembered  by  priest  or  layman 
in  extenuation  of  the  human. 

They  dislike  one  another  —  relatives  always  do — still, 
the  three  Arms  will  combine  their  Horse,  Line,  and  Field 
Batteries  in  a  common  cause  and  against  a  common  enemy ; 
the  Saint,  the  Politician,  and  the  Butterfly  have  several 
rallying-poiuts  in  common,  and  when  it  comes  to  the  ques- 
tion of  extinguishing  an  ineligible,  of  combining  a  sneer 
with  a  smile,  of  blending  the  unexceptionably-courteous 
with  the  indescribably-contemptuous,  of  calmly  shutting 
tlieir  doors  to  those  who  won't  aggrandize  them,  and 
blandly  throwing  them  open  to  those  who  will,  it  would  be 
an  invidious  task  to  give  the  golden  apple,  and  decide 
which  of  the  three  ladies  most  distinguishes  herself  in 
such  social  prowess. 

Need  I  say  that  I  don't  see  very  much  of  them? — severe 
strictures  on  society  in  general,  with  moral  platitudes, 
over  the  luncheon  wines  at  Lady  Marechale's ;  discourse 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYU.  345 

redolent  of  blue-books,  Avith  vindictive  hits  at  Protocol 
and  myself  for  our  disinclination  to  accept  a  "  mission," 
and  our  levity  of  life  and  opinions  at  "  a  period  so  full  of 
social  revolutions  and  wide-spread  agitation  as  the  preu- 
ent,"  through  the  soup  and  fish  at  Agneta's ;  softly  hissed 
acerbities  and  languidly  yawned  satires  on  the  prettiest 
women  of  my  acquaintance,  over  the  coffee  at  Lady  Fi'ed- 
eric's  ;  are  none  of  them  particularly  inviting  or  alluring. 
And  as  they  or  similar  conversational  confections  are  in- 
variably included  in  each  of  the  three  ladies'  entertain- 
ments en  petit  covilte,  it  is  n't  wonderful  if  I  forswear  their 
drawing-rooms.  Chores  dames,  you  complain,  and  your 
chosen  defenders  for  you,  that  men  don't  aflect  your  soci- 
ety nowadays  save  and  except  when  making  love  to  you. 
It  is  n't  our  fault,  indeed:  you  bore  us,  and  —  what  can 
we  do? — we  shrink  as  naturally  and  pardonably  from 
voluntary  boredom  as  from  any  other  vohmtary  suffering, 
and  shirk  an  air  redolent  of  ennui  from  the  same  principle 
as  we  do  an  air  redolent  of  diphtheria.  Self-preservation 
is  a  law  of  nature,  and  female  society  consists  too  exclu- 
sively of  milk-and-water,  dashed  here  and  there  with  citric 
acid  of  malice,  to  be  either  a  recherche  or  refreshing  bev- 
erage to  palates  that  have  tasted  warmer  spices  or  more 
wholesome  tonics. 

So  I  don't  see  much  of  my  triad  of  sisters  unless  acci- 
dentally, but  last  August  I  encountered  them  by  chance 
at  Vicq  d'Azyr.  Do  you  know  Vicq  d'Azyr  ?  No  ?  All 
right  ?  when  it  is  known  universally  it  will  be  spoilt ;  it 
will  soon  be  fashionable,  dyspeptic,  artificial,  like  the 
prowds  that  will  fiock  to  it ;  its  warm,  bubbling  springs 
will  be  gathered  into  long  upright  glasses,  and  quafied  by 
yellow-visaged  groups ;  brass  bands  will  bray  where  now 
the  thrushes,  orioles,  and  nightingales  have  the  woodlands 
to  themselves ;  cavalcades  of  hired  hacks  will  cut  up  it*i 
thyme-covered  turf,  and  young  ladies  will  sketch  in  tor- 
tured outline  and  miyerablo  washes  the  glorious  sweep  of 


346  THE    BEAUTY    OP    VICQ    D'A'ZYR. 

its  mountains,  the  crimson  tints  of  its  forests,  the  rush  of 
its  tumbling  torrents,  the  golden  gleam  of  its  sjuthern 
sun.  Vicq  d'Azyr  will  be  a  Spa,  and  will  be  sp<)ilt ;  dys- 
pepsia and  bronchia,  vanities  and  flirtations,  cares  and 
conquests,  physicians  and  intrigantes,  real  marchionesses 
puffing  under  asthma,  fictitious  marquises  strewing  chaff 
for  pigeons,  monde  and  demi-monde,  grandes  dames  and 
dames  d'industrie  will  float  into  it,  a  mighty  army  of 
butterflies  with  a  locust  power  of  destruction:  Vicq  d'Azyr 
will  be  no  more,  and  in  its  stead  we  shall  have — a  Fash- 
ionable Bath.  Vicq  d'Azyr,  however,  is  free  yet  from  the 
hand  of  the  spoiler,  and  is  charming  —  its  vine-clad  hills 
stretching  up  in  sunny  slopes ;  its  little  homesteads  nes- 
tling on  the  mountains'  sides  among  the  pines  that  load 
the  air  with  their  rich  heavy  perfume ;  its  torrents  foam- 
ing down  the  ravines,  flinging  their  snowy  spray  far  over 
the  bows  of  arbutus  and  mountain-ash  that  bend  across 
the  brinks  of  their  rushing  courses  ;  its  dark-eyed  peasant 
girls  that  dance  at  sunset  under  the  linden-trees  like  living 
incarnations  of  Florian's  pastorals ;  its  sultry  brilliant 
summer  nights,  when  all  is  still,  when  the  birds  are  sleep- 
ing among  the  ilex-leaves,  and  the  wind  barely  stirs  the 
tangled  boughs  of  the  woodland ;  when  night  is  down  on 
the  mountains,  wrapping  hill  and  valley,  crag  and  forest 
in  one  soft  j^urple  mist,  and  the  silence  around  is  only 
broken  by  the  mystic  music  of  the  rushing  waters,  the 
soft  whirr  of  the  night-birds'  wings,  or  the  distant  chime 

of  a  village  clock  faintly  tolling  through  the  air: 

Caramba,  messieurs !  I  beg  your  pardon  !  I  don't  know 
why  I  poetize  on  Vicq  d'Azyr.  /  went  there  to  slay, 
not  to  sketch,  with  a  rifle,  not  with  a  stylus,  to  kill 
izzards  and  chamois,  not  to  indite  a  poem  a  la  mode, 
with  double-barrelled  adjectives,  no  metre,  and  a  "pur- 
pose ; "  nor  to  add  my  quota  to  the  luckless  loaded  walls 
of  the  Academy  by  a  pre-Raphaelite  landscape  of  ar- 
senical  green,  with   the   efi'ete  trammels  of  perspective 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR.  341 

gallantry  disregarded,  and  trees  like  Dr.  Syntax's  wife, 
"  roundabout  and  rather  squat,"  with  just  two-dozen-and- 
seven  leaves  apiece  for  liberal  allowance.  I  went  to  Vioq 
d'Azyr,  amongst  other  places,  last  August,  for  chamois- 
hunting  with  Dunbar,  of  the  Queen's  Bays,  taking  up  our 
abode  at  the  Toison  d'Or,  whither  all  artists,  tourists,  men 
who  come  for  the  sport,  women  who  come  for  its  scenery, 
or  invalids  who  come  for  its  waters  (whose  properties, 
7niserab lie  dictu!  a,re  }\\st  being  discovered  as  a  panacea 
for  every  human  ill — from  a  migraine  to  an  "incurable 
pulmonary  affliction  "),  seek  accommodation  if  they  can 
have  it,  since  it  is  the  only  hotel  in  the  place,  though  a 
very  good  one ;  is  adorned  with  a  balcony  running  round 
the  house,  twined  and  buried  in  honeysuckle  and  wild 
clematis,  which  enchants  young  ladies  into  instant  pro- 
motion of  it  into  their  sketch-books  ;  and  gives  you,  what 
is  of  rather  more  importance,  and  what  makes  you  ready 
to  admire  the  clematis  when,  under  gastronomic  exaspera- 
tion, you  might  swear  at  it  as  a  harbor  for  tarantule  — 
an  omelette,  I  assure  you,  wellnigh  as  well  cooked  as  you 
liave  it  at  Mivart's  or  Meurice's. 

At  the  Toison  d'Or  we  took  up  our  abode,  and  at  the 
Toison  d'Or  we  encountered  my  two  elder  sisters,  Con- 
stance and  Agneta,  travelling  for  once  on  the  same  road, 
as  they  had  left  Paris  together,  and  were  together  going 
on  to  the  fashionable  capital  of  a  fashionable  little  toy 
duchy  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  when  they  should 
have  finished  with  the  wilder  beauties  and  more  unknown 
charms  of  Vicq  d'Azyr  and  its  environs.  Each  lady  had 
her  little  train  of  husband,  courier,  valet,  lady'*-maid, 
small  dog,  and  giant  jewel-box.  I  have  put  the  list  in 
the  inverse  ratio  of  their  importance,  I  believe.  Your 
husband  versus  your  jewel-box?  Of  course,  my  dear 
madam ;  absurd !  What 's  the  value  of  a  little  simple 
gold  ring  against  a  dozen  glittering  circlets  of  diamonds, 
emeralds,  rubies,  and  garnets  ? 


348  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZYR. 

Each  lady  was  bent  on  recruiting  herself  at  Vicq  d'Azyr 
after  the  toils  of  the  season,  and  of  shining  ajn^s  with  all 
the  brilliance  that  a  fair  share  of  beauty,  good  positions, 
and  money,  fairly  entitled  them  to  expect,  at  the  little 
Court  of — we  will  call  it  Lemongenseidlitz — denomi- 
nated by  its  charming  Duchess,  Princess  Helene  of  Lem- 
ongenseidlitz-Phizzstrelitz,  the  loveliest  and  most  volage 
of  all  minor  royalties.  Each  lady  was  strongly  opposed 
to  whatever  the  other  wished ;  each  thought  the  weather 
"  sultry  "  when  the  other  thought  it  "  chilly,"  and  vice 
versa.  Each  considered  her  own  ailments  "  unheard-of 
sufl'ering,  dear!  —  I  could  never  make  any  one  feel !"  &c. 
&c.  —  and  assured  you,  with  mild  disdain,  that  the  other's 
malady  was  "  purely  nervous,  entirely  exaggerated,  but 
she  toill  dwell  on  it  so  much,  poor  darling!"  Each  re- 
lated to  you  how  admirably  they  would  have  travelled  if 
her  counsel  had  been  followed,  and  described  how  the 
other  would  take  the  direction  of  everything,  would  con- 
fuse poor  Chanderlos,  the  courier,  till  he  hardly  knew 
where  he  was,  and  would  take  the  night  express  out  of 
pure  unkindness,  just  because  she  knew  how  ill  it  always 
made  her  (the  speaker)  feel  to  be  torn  across  any  country 
the  whole  night  at  that  dreadful  pace ;  each  was  dissatis- 
fied with  everything,  pleased  with  nothing,  and  bored,  as 
became  ladies  of  good  degree ;  each  found  the  sun  too 
hot  or  the  wind  too  cold,  the  mists  too  damp  or  the  air 
too  dry,  and  both  combined  their  forces  to  worry  their 
Jadies'-maids,  find  fault  with  the  viands,  drive  their  lords 
to  the  registering  of  an  oath  never  to  travel  with  women 
again,  welcome  us  benignly,  since  they  thought  we  might 
amuse  them,  and  smile  their  sunniest  on  Dunbar  —  he's 
heir-prospective  to  the  Gwynne  Marquisate,  and  Lady 
Marqueterie,  the  Saint,  is  not  above  keeping  one  eye  open 
for  worldly  distinctions,  while  Mrs.  Albany  Protocol, 
though  a  Radical,  is,  like  certain  others  of  the  ultra- 
Liberal  party,  not  above  a  personal  kow-towing  before 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZYR.  34J 

those  "  ridiculous  and  ought-to-be  exploded  conservative 
institutions"  —  Rank  and  Title. 

At  the  Toison  d'Or,  I  say,  when,  after  knocking  over 
izzards  ad  libitum  in  another  part  of  the  district,  wc  de- 
scended one  evening  into  the  valley  where  Vicq  d'AzjT 
lies  nestled  in  the  sunset  light,  with  the  pretty  vendan- 
geuses  trooping  down  from  the  sloping  vineyards,  and 
the  cattle  winding  homewards  down  the  hill-side  paths, 
and  the  vesper-bells  softly  chiming  from  the  convent- 
tower  rising  yonder  above  its  woods  of  linden  and  acacia 
— at  the  Toison  d'Or,  just  alighting  with  the  respective 
suites  aforesaid,  and  all  those  portable  embarrassments 
of  books,  tiger-skin  rugs,  flacous  of  bouquet,  travelling- 
bags  warranted  to  carry  any  and  everything  that  the  most 
fastidious  can  require  en  route  from  Piccadilly  to  Peru, 
with  which  ladies  do  love  to  encumber  and  embitter  their 
own  persons  and  their  companions'  lives,  we  met,  as  I 
have  told  you,  mesdames  mes  scaurs. 

"  What !  Dear  me,  how  Tery  singular !  Never  should 
have  dreamt  of  meeting  yoxi ;  so  much  too  quiet  a  place, 
I  should  have  thought.  No  Kursaal  heref  Come  for 
sport — oh!  Take  kSpes,  will  you!  Poor  little  dear,  he's 
been  barking  the  whole  way  because  he  could  n't  see  out 
of  the  window.  Ah,  Major  Dunbar,  charmed  to  see  you! 
What  an  amusing  rencontre,  is  it  not  ?  "  And  Lady  Mare- 
chale,  slightly  out  of  temper  for  so  eminent  a  Christian 
at  the  commencement  of  her  greeting,  smoothed  down 
her  ruffled  feathers  and  turned  smilingly  on  Dunbar.  I 
have  said  he  will  be  one  day  Marquis  of  Gwynne. 

"  By  George,  old  fellow !  yon  in  this  out-of-the-way 
place !  That 's  all  right.  Sport  good,  here  ?  Glad  to 
hear  it.  The  deuce  take  me,  if  ever  I  am  lured  into 
travelling  in  a  partie  earree  again." 

And  ^[arochale  raised  h.is  eyebrows,  and  whispered 
confidentially  to  me  stronger  language  than  I  nuiy  com- 

60 


350  THE    BEAUTY    OP    VICQ    D'AZYR. 

mit  to  print,  though,  considering  his  provocation,  it  was 
surely  as  pardonable  as  Uncle  Toby's. 

"  The  thing  I  dislike  in  this  sort  of  hotels  and  places  is 
the  admixture  of  people  with  whom  one  is  obliged  to 
come  in  contact,"  said  Constance,  putting  up  her  glass  as 
she  entered  the  long  low  room  where  the  humble  table 
d'hote  of  the  Toison  d'Or  Avas  spread.  Lady  Marechale 
talks  sweetly  of  the  equality  of  persons  in  the  sight  of 
Heaven,  but  I  never  heard  her  recognize  the  same  upon 
the  soil  of  earth. 

"  Exactly !  One  may  encounter  such  very  objection- 
able characters !  /  wished  to  dine  in  our  own  apart- 
ments, but  Albany  said  no ;  and  he  is  so  positive,  you 
know  !  This  place  seems  miserably  primitive,"  res^ionded 
Agneta.  Mrs.  Protocol  pets  Rouges  and  Republicans  of 
every  country,  talks  liberalism  like  a  feminine  Sieyes  or 
John  Bright,  projects  a  Reform  Bill  that  shall  bear  the 
strongest  possible  family  resemblance  to  the  Decrets  du  4 
Aout,  and  considers  "  social  distinctions  odious  between 
man  and  man ; "  but  her  practice  is  scarcely  consistent 
with  her  theory,  seeing  that  she  is  about  as  tenacious  and 
resentful  of  objectionable  contact  as  a  sea-anemone. 

"  Who  is  that,  I  wonder  ? "  whispered  Lady  Marechale, 
acidulating  herself  in  readiness,  after  the  custom  of  Eng- 
lish ladies  w^hen  catching  sight  of  a  stranger  whom  they 
"  don't  know." 

"I  wonder!  All  alone — how  very  queer!"  echoed 
Mrs.  Protocol,  drawing  her  black  lace  shawl  around  her, 
with  that  peculiar  movement  which  announces  a  woman's 
prescience  of  something  antagonistic  to  her,  that  is  to  be 
repelled  d'avanee,  as  surely  as  a  hedgehog's  transfer  of 
itself  into  a  prickly  ball  denotes  a  sense  of  a  coming 
enemy,  and  a  need  of  caution  and  self-protection. 

"Who  is  that  dcucedly  handsome  woman?"  whispered 
Marechale  to  me. 

"  What  a  charming  creature!"  echoed  Dunbar. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    d'aZYR.  351 

The  person  referred  to  was  the  only  woman  at  the  table 
d'hote  besides  my  sisters — a  sister-tourist,  probably;  a 
handsome — nay  more,  a  beautiful  woman,  about  eight- 
and-twenty,  distinguished-looking,  brilliant,  with  a  figure 
voluptuously  perfect  as  was  ever  the  Princess  Borghese's. 
To  say  a  woman  looks  a  lady,  means  nothing  in  our  day. 
"  That  young  lady  will  wait  on  you,  sir,"  says  the  shop- 
man, referring  to  the  shopwoman  who  will  show  you  your 
gloves.  "  Hand  the  'errings  to  that  lady,  Joe,"  you  hear 
a  fishmonger  cry,  as  you  pass  his  shop-door,  referring  by 
his  epithet  to  some  Mrs.  Gamp  or  Betsy  Priggs  in  search 
of  that  piscatory  cheer  at  his  stall.  Heaven  forbid  we 
should  give  the  abused  and  degenerate  title  to  any  womai 
deserving  of  the  name !  Generalize  a  thing,  and  it  i- 
vulgar.  "A  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,"  say?- 
Spriggs,  an  auctioneer  and  house-agent,  to  Smith,  a  col- 
lector of  the  water-rate.  "  A  man  I  know,"  says  Pur- 
sang,  one  of  the  Cabinet,  to  Greville  Tempest,  who  is  heir 
to  a  Dukedom,  and  has  intermarried  with  a  royal  house. 
The  reason  is  plain  enough.  Spriggs  thinks  it  necessary 
to  inform  Smith,  who  otherwise  might  remain  ignorant 
of  so  signal  a  fact,  that  he  actually  does  know  a  gentle- 
man, or  rather  what  he  terms  such.  Pursang  knows  that 
Tempest  Avould  never  suspect  him  of  being  lie  with  men 
who  were  anything  else;  the  one  is  proud  of  the  fine  Eng- 
lish, the  other  is  content  with  the  simple  phrase !  Heaven 
forbid,  I  say,  we  should,  nowadays,  call  any  woman  a 
lady  who  is  veritably  such ;  let  us  fall  back  on  the  digni- 
fied, definitive,  courtly  last-century-name  of  gentlewoman. 
I  should  be  glad  to  sec  that  name  x"evived  ;  it  draws  a  line 
that  snobbissimi  cannot  pass,  and  has  a  grand  simplicity 
about  it  that  will  not  attract  Spriggs,  Smith,  and  Spark, 
and  Mesdames  S.,  leurs  femmcs ! 

Our  sister-tourist,  then,  at  the  Toison  d'Or,  looked,  to 
my  eyes  at  the  least,  much  more  than  a  "  lady,"  she 
looked  an  ariatocruic  jvsqaau  boat  dc6  uikjIcs,  a  beautiful. 


S52  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR. 

brilliant,  dazzling  brunette,  with  lovely  hazel  eyes,  flash- 
ing like  a  tartaret  falcon's  under  their  arched  pencilled 
eyebrows,  quite  an  unhoped  godsend  in  Vicq  d'Azyr, 
where  only  stragglers  resort  as  yet,  though  —  alas  for  my 
Arcadia — my  sister's  pet  physician,  who  sent  them 
thither,  is  about,  I  believe,  to  publish  a  work,  entitled 
"  The  Water-Spring  in  the  Wilderness ;  or,  A  Scamper 
through  Spots  Unknown,"  which  will  do  a  little  adver- 
tising of  himself  opportunely,  and  send  hundreds  next 
season  to  invade  the  wild  woodlands  and  sunny  valleys 
he  inhumanly  drags  forth  into  the  gas-glare  of  the  world. 

The  brilliant  hazel  eyes  were  opposite  to  me  at  dinner, 
and  were,  I  confess,  more  attractive  to  me  than  the  stewed 
pigeons,  the  crisp  frog-legs,  and  the  other  viands  prepared 
by  the  (considering  we  were  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the 
most  remote  provinces)  really  not  bad  cook  of  the  Toison 
d'Or.  Lady  Mart-chale  and  Mrs.  Protocol  honored  her 
with  that  stare  by  which  one  woman  knows  so  well  how 
to  destroy  the  reputation  of  another  without  speech  ;  they 
had  taken  her  measurement  by  some  method  of  feminine 
geometry  unknown  to  us,  and  the  result  was  apparently 
not  favorable  to  her,  for  over  the  countenances  of  the  two 
ladies  gathered  that  expression  of  stiff  dignity  and  virtu- 
ous disdain,  in  the  assuming  of  which,  as  I  have  observed 
before,  they  are  inimitable  proficients.  "  Evidently  not 
a  proper  person ! "  was  written  on  every  one  of  their  lin- 
eaments. Constance  and  Agneta  had  made  up  their 
minds  with  celerity  and  decision  as  to  her  social  status, 
with,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  that  unerring  instinct  which 
leads  their  sex  to  a  conclusion  so  instantaneously,  that, 
according  to  a  philosopher,  a  woman  will  be  at  the  top  of 
the  staircase  of  Reasoning  by  a  single  spring,  while  a 
man  is  toiling  slowly  up  the  first  few  steps. 

"  You  are  intending  to  remain  here  some  days,  ma- 
dame?"  asked  the  fair  stranger,  with  a  charming  smile, 
of  Lady  Marechale  —  a  pleasant  little  overture  to  chance 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZY'R.  353 

ephemeral  acquaintance,  such  as  a  table  d'hotv)  surely 
well  wan-ants. 

But  the  pleasant  little  overture  was  one  to  which  Lady 
Marechale  was  far  too  English  to  respond.  With  that 
inimitable  breeding  for  which  our  countrymen  and  wo- 
men are  continentally  renowned,  she  bent  her  head  with 
stately  stiffness,  indulged  herself  with  a  haughty  stare  at 
the  offender,  and  turned  to  Agneta,  to  murmur  in  Eng- 
lish her  disgust  with  the  cuisine  of  the  really  unoffending 
Toison  d'Or. 

"  Poor  Spes  would  eat  nothing.  Fenton  must  make 
him  some  panada.  But  perhaps  there  was  nothing  better 
than  goat's  milk  in  the  house !  AVhat  could  Dr.  Bei'keley 
be  thinking  of?  He  described  the  place  quite  as  though 
it  were  a  second  Meurice's  or  Badischer  Hof!" 

A  look  of  amusement  glanced  into  the  sparkling,  yet 
languid  eyes  of  my  opposite  neighbor. 

"  English  ! "  she  murmured  to  herself,  with  an  almost 
imperceptible  but  sufficiently  scornful  elevation  of  her 
arched  eyebrows,  and  a  slight  smile,  just  shoAving  her 
white  teeth,  as  I  addressed  her  in  French ;  and  she  an- 
swered me  with  the  ease,  the  aplomb,  the  ever  suave 
courtesy  of  a  woman  of  the  world,  with  that  polish  which 
gives  the  most  common  subjects  a  brilliance  never  their 
own,  and  that  vivacity  which  confers  on  the  merest  trifles 
a  spell  to  amuse  and  to  charm.  She  was  certainly  a  very 
lovely  creature,  and  a  very  charming  one,  too ;  frank, 
animated,  witty,  with  the  tone  of  a  woman  who  has  seen 
the  world  and  knows  it.  Dunbar  adored  her,  at  first 
sight ;  he  is  an  inflammable  fellow,  and  has  been  ignited 
a  thousand  times  at  far  less  provocation.  Marechale  pre- 
pared for  himself  fifty  conjugal  orationrf  by  the  reckless- 
ness with  which,  under  the  very  eyes  of  madame,  he  de- 
voted himself  to  another  woman.  Even  Albany  Protocol, 
dull,  somnolent,  and  superior  to  such  weaknesses,  as  be- 
comes a  president  of  many  boards  and  a  chairman  of 
30*  y 


•354  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR 

many  committees,  opened  his  eyes  and  glanced  at  her ; 
and  some  young  Cantabs  and  artists  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table  stopped  their  own  conversation,  envying  Dunbai 
and  myself,  I  believe,  for  our  juxtaposition  with  the  belle 
inconnue ;  while  my  sisters  sat  trifling  Avith  the  wing  of  a 
pigeon,  in  voluntary  starvation  (they  would  have  had 
nothing  to  complain  of,  you  see,  if  they  had  suffered 
themselves  to  dine  well !),  with  strong  disapprobation 
marked  upon  their  lineaments,  of  this  lovely  vivacious 
unknown,  whoever  she  might  be,  talking  exclusively  to 
each  other,  with  a  certain  expression  of  sarcastic  disdain 
and  offended  virtue,  hinting  far  more  forcibly  than  words 
that  they  thought  already  the  "  very  worst "  of  her. 

So  severe,  indeed,  did  they  look,  that  Dunbar,  who  is  a 
good-natured  fellow,  and  thinks — and  thinks  justly — ■ 
that  Constance  and  Agneta  are  very  fine  women,  left  me 
to  discuss,  Hoffmann,  Heine,  and  the  rest  of  Germany's 
satirical  poets,  with  my  opposite  neighbor,  and  endeavored 
to  thaw  my  sisters ;  a  very  difficult  matter  when  once 
those  ladies  are  iced.  He  tried  Paris,  but  only  elicited  a 
monosyllabic  remark  concerning  its  weather;  he  tried 
Vicq  d'Azyr,  and  was  rewarded  for  his  trouble  by  a  with- 
ering sarcasm  on  the  unlucky  Toison  d'Or ;  he  tried  chit- 
chat on  mutual  acquaintances,  and  the  unhappy  people 
he  chanced  to  name  were  severally  dismissed  with  a  cut- 
ting satire  appended  to  each.  Lady  Marechale  and  Mrs. 
Protocol  were  in  one  of  those  freezing  and  unassailable 
moods  in  which  they  sealed  a  truce  with  one  another, 
and,  combining  their  forces  against  a  common  foe,  dealt 
out  sharp,  spherical,  hard-hitting  little  bullets  of  speech 
from  behind  the  abatis  in  which  they  intrenched  them- 
Belves. 

At  last  he,  in  despair,  tried  Lemongenseidlitz,  and  the 
ladies  thawed  slightly — their  anticipations  from  that 
fashionable  little  quarter  were  couleur  de  rose.  They 
would  meet  their  people  of  the   best  monde,  all   their 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    d'aZYR.  355 

dearest — that  is  of  course  their  most  fashionable — ■ 
friends ;  the  dear  Duchess  of  Frangipane,  the  Millamonts 
those  charming  people,  M.  le  Marquis  de  Croix-et-Cordon, 
Sir  Henry  Pulliuger,  Mrs.  Merivale-Delafield,  were  all 
there  ;  that  delightful  person,  too,  the  Graf  von  Rosenliiu, 
who  amused  them  so  much  at  Baden  last  year,  was,  as  of 
course  Dunbar  knew.  Master  of  the  Horse  to  the  Prince 
of  Leraongenseidlitz-Phizzstrelitz;  they  would  be  well  re- 
ceived at  the  Court.  Which  last  thing,  however,  they 
did  not  say,  though  they  might  imply,  and  assuredly  fully 
thought  it ;  since  Lady  Marechale  already  pictured  her- 
self gently  awakening  his  Serene  Highness  to  the  spirit- 
ual darkness  of  his  soul  in  legitimatizing  gaming-tables 
in  his  duchy,  and  Mrs.  Protocol  already  beheld  herself 
closeted  with  his  First  Minister,  giving  that  venerable 
Metternich  lessons  in  political  economy,  and  developing 
to  him  a  system  for  filling  his  beggared  treasury  to  over- 
flowing, without  taxing  the  people  a  kreutzer — a  problem 
which,  though  it  might  have  perplexed  Kaunitz,  Colbert, 
Pitt,  Malesherbes,  Talleyrand,  and  Palmerston  put  to- 
gether, offered  not  the  slightest  difficulty  to  her  enterpris- 
ing intellect.  Have  I  not  said  that  Sherlock  states 
women  are  at  the  top  of  the  staircase  while  Ave  are  toiling 
up  the  first  few  steps  ? 

"  The  Duchess — Princess  Helene  is  a  lovely  Avoman,  I 
think.  Winton  saw  her  at  the  Tuileries  last  winter,  and 
raved  about  her  beauty,"  said  Dunbar,  finding  he  had  hit 
at  lo.st  on  an  acceptable  subject,  and  pursuing  it  Avith 
mure  zeal  than  discretion  ;  for  if  there  be  one  thing,  I 
take  it,  more  indiscreet  than  another,  it  is  to  praise 
Avoman  to  woman. 

Constance  coughed  and  Agneta  smiled,  and  both  as- 
sented.    "Oh  yes  —  very  lovely,  they  believed!" 

"  And  very  lively  —  up  to  everything,  I  think  I  have 
heard,"  Avent  on  Dunbar,  blandly,  unconscious  of  the 
moaning  of  cough,  smile,  and  assent. 


,  S56  VIIE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR. 

"Very  lively!"  sighed  the  Saint. 

"  Very  lively ! "  smiled  the  Politician 

"As  gay  a  woman  as  Marie  Antoinette,"  continued 
Dunbar,  too  intent  on  the  truffles  to  pay  en  meme  temps 
much  heed  to  the  subject  he  was  discussing.  "  She 's 
copied  the  Trianon,  hasn't  she?  —  has  fetes  and  pastorals 
there,  acts  in  comedies  herself,  shakes  off  etiquette  and 
ceremonial  as  much  as  she  can,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
I  believe?" 

Lady  Marechale  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  the  severe 
virtue  and  dignified  censure  of  a  British  matron  and  a 
modern  Lucretia  expressed  in  both  attitude  and  counte- 
nance. 

"A  second  Marie  Antoinette? — -too  truly  and  unfor- 
tunately so,  I  have  heard !  Levity  in  any  station  suffi- 
ciently reprehensible,  but  when  exhibited  in  the  persons 
of  those  whom  a  higher  power  has  placed  in  exalted 
positions,  it  is  most  deeply  to  be  deplored.  The  evil  and 
contagion  of  its  example  become  incalculable ;  and  even 
when,  which  I  believe  her  excusers  are  wont  to  assert  of 
Princess  Helene,  it  is  merely  traceable  to  an  ovcr-gayety 
of  spirit  and  an  over-carelessness  of  comment  and  cen- 
sure, it  should  be  remembered  that  we  are  enjoined  to 
abstain  from  every  appearance  of  evil ! " 

With  which  Constance  shook  out  her  phylacteries, 
represented  by  the  thirty-guinea  bracade-silk  folds  of  her 
tfikirt  (a  dress  I  heard  her  describe  as  "very  plain !  — ser- 
viceable for  travelling"),  and  glanced  at  my  opposite 
neighbor  with  a  look  which  said,  "  You  are  evidently  not 
a  proper  person,  but  you  hear  for  once  what  a  proper 
person  thinks ! " 

Our  charming  companion  did  hear  it,  for  she  apparently 
understood  English  very  well.  She  laughed  a  little  —  a 
sweet,  low,  ringing  laugh  —  (I  was  rather  in  love  with 
her,  I  must  say — \  am  still) — and  spoke  with  a  slight 
pretty  accent. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZYR.  357 

"  True,  madarae !  but  ah !  what  a  pity  your  St.  Paul 
did  not  advise,  too,  that  people  shouhl  not  go  by  appear- 
ances, and  think  evil  where  evil  is  not !  " 

Lady  Mar^chale  gave  stare  number  two  with  a  curl  of 
her  lip,  and  bent  her  head  stiffly. 

"  What  a  very  strange  person !  "  she  observed  to  Ag- 
neta,  in  a  murmur,  meant,  like  a  stage  aside,  to  be  duly 
heard  and  appreciated  by  the  audience.  And  yet  my 
sisters  are  thought  very  admirably  bred  women,  too! 
But  then,  a  woman  alone  —  a  foreigner,  a  stranger — ■ 
surely  no  one  Avould  exact  courtesy  to  such,  from  "  ladies 
of  position  ?  " 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  Princess  Hel^ne,  the  Duchess  of 
Lemongenseidlitz,  may  I  ask?"  Marechale  inquired,  has- 
tily, to  cover  his  wife's  sneer.  He 's  a  very  good  fellow, 
and  finds  the  constant  and  inevitable  society  of  a  saint 
slightly  trying,  and  a  very  heavy  chastisement  for  a  few 
words  sillily  said  one  morning  in  St.  George's. 

**  I  have  seen  her,  monsieur — yes  !  " 

"  And  is  she  a  second  Marie  Antoinette  ? " 

She  laughed  gayly,  showing  her  beautiful  white  teeth, 

"Ah,  bah,  monsieur!  many  would  say  that  is  a  great 
deal  too  good  a  comparison  for  her !  A  second  Louise  de 
Savoie — a  second  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse — nay,  a  second 
Lucrezia  Borgia,  some  would  tell  you.  She  likes  pleasure 
— who  does  not,  though,  except  those  with  whom  *  lea 
raisins  Bont  trop  verts  et  bons  pour  des  goujats  ? '  " 

"  What  an  insufferably  bold  person  !  "  murmured  Con- 
stance. 

"  Very  disagreeable  to  meet  this  style  of  people !  "  re- 
turned Agneta. 

And  both  stiffened  themselves  with  a  little  more  starch; 
and  we  know  that  British  wheats  produce  the  stiffest 
Btarch  in  the  world  ! 

"  Who,  inde(jd  !  "  cried  Mar6chale,  regardless  of  ma- 
dame's  frown.  "  You  know  this  for  truth,  then,  of  Princesa 
Hel^ne?" 


S58  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZTR. 

"Ah,  bah,  monsieur!  who  knows  anything  for  truth?" 
laughed  the  lovely  brunette.  "The  Avorld  dislikes  truth 
BO  much,  it  is  obliged  to  hide  itself  in  out-of-the-way 
corners,  and  very  rarely  comes  to  light.  Nobody  knows 
the  truth  about  her.  Some  think  her,  as  you  say,  a  second 
Marie  Antoinette,  who  is  surrendered  to  dissipation  and 
levity,  cares  for  nothing,  and  would  dance  and  laugh 
over  the  dead  bodies  of  the  people.  Others  judge  her  as 
others  judged  Marie  Antoinette ;  discredit  the  gossip,  and 
think  she  is  but  a  lively  woman,  who  laughs  at  forms, 
likes  to  amuse  herself,  and  does  not  see  why  a  court 
ehould  be  a  prison  !  The  world  likes  the  darker  picture 
best ;  let  it  have  it !  I  do  not  suppose  it  will  break  her 
heart ! " 

And  the  fair  stranger  laughed  so  sweetly,  that  every 
man  at  the  dinner-table  fell  in  love  with  her  on  the  spot ; 
and  Lady  Marechale  and  Mrs.  Protocol  sat  throughout 
the  remainder  of  the  meal  in  frozen  dignity  and  unbreak- 
able silence,  while  the  lovely  brunette  talked  with  and 
smiled  on  us  all  with  enchanting  gayety,  wit,  and  abandon, 
chatting  on  all  sorts  of  topics  of  the  day. 

Dinner  over,  she  was  the  first  to  rise  from  the  table, 
and  bowed  to  us  with  exquisite  grace  and  that  charming 
smile  of  hers,  of  which  the  sweetest  rays  fell  upon  me,  I 
swear,  whether  you  consider  the  oath  an  emanation  of 
personal  vanity  or  not,  my  good  sir.  My  sisters  returned 
her  bow  and  her  good  evening  to  them  with  that  pointed 
stare  which  says  so  plainly,  "  You  are  not  my  equal,  how 
tlare  you  insult  me  by  a  courtesy  ? " 

And  scarcely  had  we  begun  to  sip  our  coffee  up-stairs 
in  the  apartments  Chanderlos  had  secured  for  the  miladies 
Anglaises,  than  the  duo  upon  her  began  as  the  two  ladies 
Bat  with  Spes  between  them  on  a  sofa  beside  one  of  the 
windows  opening  on  the  balcony  that  ran  round  the 
house.  A  chance  inadvertent  assent  of  Dunbar's,  k  propoa 
of — oh,  sin  unpardonable! — the  beauty  of  the  incognita's 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZYR.  359 

eyes,  touched  the  vahe  and  unloosened  the  hot  springs 
that  were  seething  helow  in  silence.  "A  handsome 
woman! — oh  yes,  a  gentleman's  beauty,  I  dare  say!  — 
but  a  very  odd  person ! "  commenced  Mrs,  Protocol. 
"  A  very  strange  person ! "  assented  Mrs.  Marechale. 
"Very  free  manners!"  added  Agneta.  "Quite  French!" 
chorused  Constance.  "She  has  diamond  rings — paste, 
no  doubt!"  said  the  Politician.  "And  rouges — the 
color 's  much  too  lovely  to  be  natural ! "  sneered  the 
Saint.  "Paints  her  eyebrows,  too!"  "Not  a  doubt  — 
and  tints  her  lashes!"  "An  adventuress,  I  should  say!" 
"Or  worse!"  " Evidently  not  a  proper  person ! "  "Cer- 
tainly not!" 

Through  the  soft  mellow  air,  hushed  into  evening 
silence,  the  words  reached  me,  as  I  walked  through  the 
window  on  to  the  balcony,  and  stood  sipping  my  coCt^e 
and  looking  lazily  over  the  landscape  wrapped  in  suu^ci 
haze,  over  the  valley  where  the  twilight  shadows  'V»ui<j 
deepening,  and  the  mountains  that  were  steeped  yet  .a  »• 
rose-hued  golden  radiance  from  the  rays  that  had  luh  » 
behind  them. 

"  My  dear  ladies,"  I  cried,  involuntarily,  "  can't  yov 
find  anything  a  little  more  kindly  to  say  of  a  strangei 
who  has  never  done  you  any  harm,  and  who,  fifty  to  one, 
will  never  cross  your  path  again  ?  " 

"  Bravo ! "  echoed  Marechale,  who  has  never  gone  as 
quietly  in  the  matrimonial  break  as  Protocol,  and  indeed 
will  never  be  thoroughly  broken  in — "bravo!  women  are 
always  studying  to  make  themselves  attractive;  it's  a 
pity  they  don't  put  down  among  the  items  a  trifle  of 
generosity  and  charity,  it  would  embellish  them  wonder- 
fully." 

Lady  Marechale  beat  an  injured  tattoo  with  the  spoon 
on  her  saucer,  and  leaned  back  with  the  air  of  a  martyr, 
and  drawing  in  her  lips  with  a  smile,  whose  inimitable* 
Bueer  any  lady  might  have  envied — it  was  quite  price- 
less! 


360  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'aZYR. 

"It  is  the  first  time,  Sir  George,  I  should  presume,  that 
a  husband  and  a  brother  were  ever  heard  to  unite  in  up- 
braiding  a  wife  and  a  sister  with  her  disinclination  to 
associate  with,  or  her  averseness  to  countenance,  an  im- 
proper person ! " 

"An  improper  person!"  I  cr.ed.  "But,  ray  dear  Con- 
stance, who  ever  told  you  that  this  lady  you  are  so  des- 
perately bitter  upon  has  any  fault  at  all,  save  the  worst 
fault  in  her  own  sex's  eyes  —  that  of  beauty?  I  see 
nothing  in  her;  her  manners  are  perfect;  her  tone " 

"  You  must  pardon  me  if  I  decline  taking  your  verdict 
on  so  delicate  a  question,"  interrupted  Lady  Marechale, 
with  withering  satire.  "  Very  possibly  you  see  nothing 
objectionable  in  her — nothing,  at  least,  that  you  would 
call  so!  Your  views  and  mine  are  sufficiently  different 
on  every  subject,  and  the  women  with  whom  I  believe 
you  have  chiefly  associated  are  not  those  who  are  calcu- 
lated to  give  you  very  much  appreciation  for  the  more 
refined  classes  of  our  sex !  Very  possibly  the  person  in 
question  is  what  you,  and  Sir  George  too,  perhaps,  find 
charming ;  but  you  must  excuse  me  if  I  really  cannot,  to 
oblige  you,  stoop  to  countenance  any  one  whom  my  intui- 
tion and  my  knowledge  of  the  world  both  declare  so  very 
evidently  what  she  should  not  be.  She  will  endeavor, 
most  probably,  if  she  remain  here,  to  push  herself  into 
our  acquaintance,  but  if  you  and  my  husband  should 
choose  to  insult  us  by  fiivoring  her  efforts,  Agneta  and  I, 
happily,  can  guard  ourselves  from  the  objectionable  com- 
panionship into  which  those  Avho  should  be  our  protectors 
would  wish  to  force  us!" 

With  which  Lady  Marechale,  with  a  little  more  mar- 
tyrdom and  an  air  of  extreme  dignity,  had  recourse  to 
her  Jiacon  of  Viola  Montana,  and  sank  among  the  sofa 
cushions,  a  model  of  outraged  and  Spartan  virtue.  I  set 
down  my  coffee-cup,  and  lounged  out  again  to  the  peace 
of  the  bale  my;  Marechale  shrugged  his  shoulders,  rose^ 


THE    BEAUTY    OP    VICQ    D'AZYR.  361 

and  followed  me.  Lo!  on  the  part  of  the  balcony  that 
ran  under  her  windows,  leaning  on  its  balustrade,  her 
white  hand,  white  as  the  flowers,  playing  with  the  cle- 
matis tendrils,  the  "  paste "  diamond  flashing  in  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  stood  our  "dame  d'industrie — or 
worse!"  She  was  but  a  few  feet  farther  on;  she  must 
have  heard  Lady  Marechale's  and  Mrs,  Protocol's  duo  on 
her  demerits ;  she  had  heard  it,  without  doubt,  for  she 
was  laughing  gayly  and  joyously,  laughter  that  sparkled 
all  over  her  riante  face  and  flashed  in  her  bright  falcon 
eyes.  Laughing  still,  she  signed  me  to  her.  I  need  not 
say  that  the  sign  was  obeyed. 

"  Chivalrous  knight,  I  thank  you !  You  are  a  Bayard 
of  chivalry  ;  you  defend  the  absent !  What  a  miracle,  mon 
Dieu  !  Tell  your  friends  from  me  not  to  speak  so  loudly 
when  their  windows  are  open  ;  and,  for  yourself,  rest  as- 
sured your  words  of  this  evening  will  not  be  forgotten," 

"  I  am  happy,  indeed,  if  I  have  been  fortunate  enough 
to  obtain  a  chance  remembrance,  but  do  not  give  me  too 
much  praise  for  so  simple  a  service ;  the  clumsiest  Cimou 
would  be  stirred  into  chivalry  under  such  inspiration  as  I 
had " 

The  beautiful  hazel  eyes  flashed  smilingly  on  me  under 
their  lashes.  ( Those  lashes  tinted !  Heaven  forgive  the 
malice  of  women !)  She  broke  off  a  sprig  of  the  clematis, 
with  its  long  slender  leaves  and  fragrant  starry  flowers, 
and  gave  it  to  me. 

"  Tenez,  mon  ami,  if  ever  you  see  me  again,  show  me  that 
faded  flower,  and  I  shall  remember  this  evening  at  Vicq 
d'Azyr.  Nay,  do  not  flatter  yourself — do  not  thrust  it  in 
your  breast ;  it  is  no  gage  d'amour !  it  is  only  a  reward  for 
loyal  service,  and  a  souvenir  to  refresh  my  own  memory, 
which  is  treacherous  sometimes,  though  not  in  gratitude 
to  those  who  serve  me.   Adieu,  mon  Bayard — et  bonsoir!" 

But  I  retained  the  hand  that  had  given  me  my  clcmatia-> 
Bpray. 

31 


3G2  THE    REAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR. 

"  Meet  you  again !  But.  will  not  that  be  to-morrow  ?  If  I 
am  not  to  see  you,  as  your  words  threaten,  till  the  clematia 
be  faded  and  myself  forgotten,  let  me  at  least,  I  beseech 
you,  know  where,  who,  by  what  name " 

She  drew  her  hand  away  w'th  something  of  a  proud, 
surprised  gesture ;  then  she  laughed  again  that  sweet,  ring- 
ing, mocking  laugh : 

"No,  no,  Bayard,  it  is  too  much  to  ask !  Leave  the  fu- 
ture to  hazard  ;  it  is  always  the  best  philosophy.  An  revoir  I 
Adieu  —  perhaps  for  a  day,  perhaps  for  a  century ! " 

And  the  bewitching  mystery  floated  away  from  me  and 
througli  the  open  window  of  her  room.  You  will  imagine 
that  my  "Intuition"  did  not  lead  me  to  the  conclusion  to 
which  Lady  Marechale's  led  her,  or  assuredly  should  I 
have  followed  the  donor  of  the  clematis,  despite  her  pro- 
hibition Even  with  my  "intuition"  pointing  where  ifc 
did,  I  am  not  sure  what  I  might  have  done  if,  in  her  salon, 
I  had  not  caught  sight  of  a  valet  and  a  lady's  maid  in 
waiting  with  her  coffee,  and  they  are  not  such  spectators 
as  one  generally  selects.  <, 

The  servants  closed  her  windows  and  drew  down  their 
Venetian  blinds,  and  I  returned  to  my  coffee.  Wliether  the 
two  ladies  within  had  overheard  her  conversation  as  she 
had  heard  theirs,  I  cannot  say,  but  they  looked  trebly 
refrigerated,  had  congealed  themselves  into  the  chilliest 
human  ice  that  is  imaginable,  and  comported  themselves 
towards  me  fully  as  distantly  as  though  I  had  brought 
a  dozen  ballet-girls  in  to  dinner  with  them,  or  introduced 
them  to  my  choicest  acquaintance  from  the  Chiteau  des 
Fleurs. 

"A  man's  taste  is  so  pitiably  low!"  remarked  Lady 
Marechale,  in  her  favorite  stage  aside  to  JMrs.  Protocol; 
to  which  that  other  lady  responded,  "Disgracefully  so!" 

Who  was  my  lovely  unknown  with  the  bright  falcon 
eyes  and  the  charming  laugh,  with  her  strange  freedom  that 
yet  was  not,  somehow,  free,  and  her  strange  fascination?   I 


THE    BEAUTY   OF    VICQ    d'aZYR.  363 

bade  my  man  ask  Chanderlos  her  name  —  couriers  know 
everything  generally  —  but  neither  Mills  nor  Chanderlos 
gave  me  any  information.  The  people  of  the  house  did 
not  know,  or  said  they  did  not ;  they  only  knew  she  had 
servants  in  attendance  who  came  Avith  her,  who  revealed 
nothing,  and  paid  any  price  for  the  best  of  everything. 
Are  impertinent  questions  ever  asked  where  money  is 
plentiful  ? 

I  was  dressing  the  next  morning  something  later  than 
usual,  when  I  heard  the  roll  of  a  carriage  in  the  court- 
yard below.  I  looked  through  the  half-open  persiennes 
with  a  semi-presentiment  that  it  was  my  sweet  foreigner 
who  was  leaving  ere  I  could  presume  on  my  clematis  or 
improve  our  acquaintance.  True  enough,  she  it  was,  leav- 
ing Vicq  d'Azyr  in  a  travelling-carriage,  with  handsome 
roans  and  servants  in  imperial-blue  liveries.  Who  the 
deuce  could  she  be? 

"Well,  Constance,"  said  I,  as  I  bade  Lady  Marechale 
good  morning,  "your  bete  noire  won't  'press  herself  into 
your  acquaintance,'  as  you  were  dreading  last  night,  and 
won't  excite  Marechale  and  me  to  any  more  high  treason. 
Won't  you  chant  a  Te  Deum  ?     She  left  this  morning." 

"So  I  perceived,"  answered  Lady  Marechale,  frigidly; 
by  which  I  suppose  she  had  not  been  above  the  weakness 
of  looking  through  her  persiennes. 

"  What  a  pity  you  and  Agueta  agitated  yourselves  with 
such  unnecessary  alarm!  It  must  have  cost  you  a  great 
deal  of  eau-de-Cologne  and  sal-volatile,  I  am  afraid,  last 
night.  Do  you  think  she  contaminated  the  air  of  the 
salle-a-manger,  because  I  will  order  Mills  to  throw  some 
disinfectant  about  before  you  go  down?" 

"I  have  no  inclination  to  jest  upon  a  person  of  that 
stamp,"  rejoined  Lady  Marechale,  with  immense  dignity, 
Bottling  her  turquoise  wristband-studs. 

"'That  stamp  of  persons!'  What!  Do  you  think  she 
b  an  aaveuturess,  an  intrigante,  'or  worse'  still,  then?    I 


364  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    DA'ZYR 

hoped  her  dashing  equipage  might  have  done  something 
towards  cleansing  her  character.  Wealth  is  a  universal 
purifier  generally." 

"Flippant  impertinence!"  murmured  Lady  Marechale, 
disgustedly,  to  Mrs.  Protocol,  as  she  swept  onwards  down 
the  staircase,  not  deigning  me  a  glance,  much  less  a  re- 
sponse, stiffening  herself  with  a  little  extra  starch  of 
Lucretian  virtue  and  British -matronly  dignity,  which 
did  not  grow  limp  again  throughout  breakfast,  while  she 
found  fault  with  the  chocolate,  considered  the  petits  pains 
execrable,  condemned  the  sardines  as  uneatable,  petted 
Spes,  kept  Marechale  and  me  at  Coventry,  and  sighed 
over  their  enforced  incarceration,  by  Dr.  Berkeley's 
orders,  in  Vicq  d'Azyr,  that  kept  them  in  this  stupid 
place  away  from  Lemongenseidlitz. 

Their  anticipations  from  Lemongenseidlitz  were  charm- 
ingly golden  and  rose-tinted.  They  looked  forward  to 
consolidating  their  friendship  with  the  dear  Duchess  in 
its  balmy  air,  to  improving  a  passing  acquaintance  into 
an  intimate  one  with  that  charming  person  the  Baroness 
Lie])enfrauenmilch,  Mistress  of  the  Robes  to  Princess 
Hclene,  and  to  being  very  intimate  at  the  Court,  while 
the  Pullingers  (their  bosom-friends  and  very  dear  rivals) 
would  be  simply  presented,  and  remain  in  chagrin,  unin- 
vited to  the  state  balls  and  palace  festivities.  And  what 
more  delightful  than  that  last  clause?  for  what  sauce 
invented,  from  Careme  to  Soyer,  flavors  our  own  plats  so 
deliciously,  I  should  like  to  know,  as  thinking  that  our 
beloved  next-door  neighbor  is  doomed  to  a  very  dry  cutlet? 

As  Perette,  in  a  humbler  fashion,  built  visions  from  the 
pot  of  milk,  so  mesdames  mes  sojurs,  from  the  glittering 
court  and  capital  of  Lemongenseidlitz,  erected  brilliant 
chateaux  en  Espagne  of  all  their  sayings  and  doings  in 
that  fashionable  little  city  whither  they  were  bound,  and 
into  which  they  had  so  many  invaluaVile  passports.  They 
were  impatient  to  be  journeying  from  our  humble,  solitary 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR.  365 

valley,  and  after  a  month  of  Vicq  d'Azyr,  they  departed 
for  their  golden  land,  and  I  went  with  them,  as  I  had 
glain  izzards  almost  ad  naiiseam,  and  Dunbar's  expiration 
of  leave  had  taken  him  back  to  Dublin. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  Ave  reached  its  Reidenscher  Hof, 
nine  when  we  had  finished  dinner.  It  was  stupid  work 
yawning  over  coffee  and  Galignani.  What  was  to  bo  done? 
Marechale  proposed  the  Opera,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  was  unopposed  by  his  wife.  Constance  was  in  a  suave, 
benignant  mood ;  she  was  thinking  of  her  Graf  von  Ro- 
senlau,  of  the  Pullingers,  and  of  the  sweet,  adroit  manner 
in  which  she  would — when  she  had  captivated  him  and 
could  proffer  such  hints  —  awaken  his  Serene  Highness 
to  a  sense  of  his  moral  guilt  in  not  bringing  to  instant 
capital  punishment  every  agent  in  those  Satanus-farmed 
banks  that  throve  throughout  his  duchy.  Lady  Marechale 
and  Mrs.  Protocol  assented,  and  to  the  little  miniature 
gayly-decorated  Opera  House  we  drove.  They  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  second  act  of  "Ernani."  "Ernani"  was 
stale  to  us  all,  and  we  naturally  lorgne'd  the  boxes  in  lieu 
of  the  stage.  I  had  turned  my  glass  on  the  left-hand 
stage-box,  and  was  going  steadily  round,  when  a  faint  cry 
of  dismay,  alarm,  amazement,  horror,  broke,  mufiled  and 
low,  from  mesdames  mes  sceurs.  Their  lorgnons  were  riv- 
eted on  one  spot;  their  cheeks  were  blanched;  their  hands 
were  tremulous;  if  they  had  beheld  a  spiritual  visitant, 
no  consternation  more  profound,  more  intense,  could  have 
seized  both  with  its  iron  hand.  My  sisters  too!  the  chil- 
liest, the  calmest,  the  most  impenetrable,  tlie  most  unas- 
sailable of  mortals ! 

"And  we  called  her,  in  her  hearing,  not  a  proper  per- 
son?" gasped  Lady  Marechale. 

"We  thought  her  a  lorette!  an  intrigante!  a  dame 
d'industrie!"  echoed  Mrs.  Protocol. 

"  Who  wore  paste  jewels ! " 

"  Who  came  fVoin  tlie  Rue  Breda!" 
31* 


366  THE    BEAUTY    OF    VICQ    D'AZYR. 

"  Who  wanted  to  know  us ! " 

"  Whom  we  would  n't  know  ! " 

I  turned  my  Voightlander  Avhere  their  Yoightlanders 
turned  ;  there,  in  the  royal  box,  leaning  back  iu  the  fau- 
teuil  that  marked  her  rank,  there,  with  her 'lovely  hazel 
eyes,  her  witching  smile,  her  radiant  beauty,  matchless 
as  the  pearls  gleaming  above  her  broAV,  there  sat  the 
'*  adventuress  —  or  worse ! "  of  Vicq  d'Azyr ;  the  "  evi- 
dently a  not  proper  person"  of  my  discerning  sisters — 
H.S.H.  Princess  Helene,  Grand-Duchess  of  Lemongen- 
seidlitz-Phizzstrelitz !  Great  Heavens  !  how  had  we  never 
guessed  her  before?  How  had  we  never  divined  her 
identity  ?  How  had  Ave  never  remembered  all  we  had 
heard  of  her  love  of  laisser-aller,  her  taste  for  adventure, 
her  delight  in  travelling,  when  she  could,  unattended  and 
incognita  ?  How  had  we  never  put  this  and  that  together, 
and  penetrated  the  metamorphosis? 

"And  I  called  her  not  a  proper  person  ! ''  gasped  Lady 
Marechale,  again  shrinking  back  behind  the  azure  cur- 
tains ;  the  projectiles  she  had  shot  with  such  vindictive 
severity,  such  delighted  acrimony,  from  the  murderous 
mortar  of  malice,  recoiling  back  upon  her  head  for  once, 
and  crushing  her  to  powder.  What  reception  would  they 
have  now  at  the  Court  ?  Von  Rosenliiu  would  be  power- 
less ;  the  Pullingers  themselves  would  be  better  off! 
Perette's  pot  of  milk  was  smashed  and  spilt!  "Adieu, 
veau,  vache,  cochon,  couvee ! " 

When  the  pitcher  lies  shivered  into  fragments,  and  the 
milk  is  spilt,  you  know,  poor  Perette's  dreams  are  shivered 
and  spilt  with  them.  "  I  have  not  seen  you  at  the  palace 
yet?"  asked  her  Grace  of  Frangipane.  "  We  do  not  see 
you  at  the  Court,  mesdames?"  asked  M.de  la  Croix-et-Cor- 
dons.  "  How  did  it  happen  you  were  not  at  the  Duchess's 
ball  last  night?"  asked  "  those  odious  Pullingers."  And 
what  had  my  sister  to  say  iu  rei)ly  ?   My  clematis  secured 


THE    BEAUTY    OP    VICQ    D'AZYB. 


36t 


me  a  cliarming  reception  —  how  charming  I  don't  feel 
called  upon  to  reveal — ^^but  Princess  Heleue,  with  that 
calm  dignity  which  easily  replaced,  when  she  chose,  her 
witching  abandon,  turned  the  tables  upon  her  detractors, 
and  taught  them  how  dangerous  it  may  be  to  speak  ill— 
of  the  wrong  people. 


Pl  study  a  la  LOUIS   QUATORZE: 

PENDANT  TO  A  PORTRAIT  BY  MIGNARD. 

|HE  was  surpassingly  fair,  Madame  la  Marquise. 
Mignard's  portraits  of  her  may  fully  rival  hia 
far-famed  Portrait  aux  Amours.  One  of  them 
has  her  painted  as  Venus  Victrix,  in  the  foshion  of  the 
day ;  one  of  them,  as  herself,  as  Leontine  Opportune  de 
Vivonne  de  Rennecourt,  Marquise  de  la  Riviere,  with  her 
crfeve-coeurs,  and  her  diamonds,  and  her  gay  smile,  showing 
her  teeth,  white  and  gleaming  as  the  pearls  mingled  with 
her  curls  a  la  mode  Montespan.  Not  Louise  de  la  Beaume- 
le-Blanc,  when  the  elm-boughs  of  St.  Germain  first  flung 
their  shadow  on  her  golden  head,  before  it  bent  for  the 
Carmelite  veil  before  the  altar  in  the  Rue  St.  Jacques; 
not  Henriette  d'Angleterre,  when  she  listened  to  the  trou- 
veres'  romances  sung  under  her  balcony  at  St.  Cloud, 
before  her  young  life  was  quenched  by  the  hand  of  Morel 
and  the  order  of  Monsieur;  not  Athenais  de  Morlemart, 
when  the  liveries  of  lapis  lazuli  blue  dashed  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  and  the  outriders  cleared  her  path  with 
their  whips,  before  the  game  was  lost,  and  the  iron  spikes 
were  fastened  inside  the  Montespan  bracelets;  —  none  of 
them,  her  contemporaries  and  acquaintances,  eclipsed  in 
loveliness  Madame  la  Marquise.  Had  she  but  been  fair 
instead  of  dark,  the  brown  Bourbon  eyes  would  have 
fallen  on  her  of  a  surety ;  she  would  have  outshone  the 
lapis  lazuli  liveries  witli  a  royal  guard  of  scarlet  and 

(  008  ) 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  3G0 

gold,  and  her  friend  Atli^nais  would  have  hated  her  as 
that  fair  lady  hated  "la  sotte  Fontanges"  and  "Saint 
Maiutenon ; "  for  their  sex,  in  all  ages,  have  remembered 
the  sage's  precept,  "  Love  as  thougli  you  will  one  day 
hate,"  and  invariably  carry  about  Avith  them,  ready  for 
need,  a  little  essence  of  the  acid  of  Malice,  to  sour  in  an 
instant  the  sugared  cream  of  their  loves  and  their  friend- 
ships, if  occasion  rise  up  and  the  storm-cloud  of  rivalry 
loom  in  the  horizon. 

She  was  a  beauty,  Madame  la  Marquise,  and  she  knew 
it,  as  she  leaned  out  over  the  balcony  of  her  chateau  of 
Petite  Foret,  that  lay  close  to  Clagny,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  wood  of  Ville  d'Avree,  outside  the  gates  of  Ver- 
sailles, looking  down  on  her  bosquets,  gardens,  and  ter- 
races designed  by  Le  Notre ;  for  though  she  was  alone, 
and  there  was  nothing  but  her  little  dog  Osmin  to  admire 
her  white  skin,  and  her  dark  eyes,  and  her  beautiful 
hands  and  arms,  and  her  diamond  pendants  that  glittered 
in  the  moonlight,  she  smiled,  her  flashing  triumphant 
smile,  as  she  whispered  to  herself,  "He  is  mine  —  mine! 
Bah!  how  can  he  help  himself?"  and  pressed  the  ruby 
agraffe  on  her  bosom  with  the  look  of  a  woman  who 
knew  no  resistance,  and  brooked  no  reluctance  to  worship 
at  her  shrine. 

Nothing  ever  opposed  Madame  la  Marquise,  and  life 
went  smoothly  on  with  her.  If  Bossuet  ever  reproved  her, 
it  was  in  those  anath^mes  caches  sous  des  fieurs  d'oranger 
in  which  that  politic  priest  knew  how  to  deal  when  expe- 
dient, however  haughty  and  relentless  to  the  world  in 
general.  M.  Ic  Marquis  was  not  a  savage  eccentricity  like 
M.  de  Pardaillon  de  Gondran,  Avould  never  have  dreamt 
of  imitating  the  eccentricity  of  going  into  mourning,  but 
if  the  Bourbon  eye  had  fallen  on  his  wife,  would  have 
said,  like  a  loyal  peer  of  France,  that  all  his  household 
treasures  were  the  King's.  Disagreeables  fled  before  the 
scintillations  of  her  smiles,  as  the  crowd  fled  belbre  her 

Y 


370  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZB. 

gilded  carriage  and  her  Flanders  horses ;  and  if  ever  a 
little  fit  of  piety  once  in  a  while  came  over  her,  and  Con- 
science whispered  a  mal  a  propos  word  in  her  delicate  ear, 
she  would  give  an  enamelled  lamp  to  Sainte  Marie  Ee- 
paratrice,  by  the  advice  of  the  Comtesse  de  Soubise  and 
the  Princesse  de  Monaco  (who  did  such  expiatory  things 
themselves,  and  knew  the  comfort  they  afibrded),  and 
emerge  from  her  repentance  one  of  the  most  radiant  of  all 
the  brilliant  butterflies  that  fluttered  their  gorgeous  Avings 
in  the  Jardin  de  Flore  under  the  sunny  skies  of  Ver- 
sailles, 

The  moonlight  glittered  on  the  fountains,  falling  wdth 
measured  splash  into  their  marble  basins ;  the  lime-leaves, 
faintly  stirred  by  the  sultry  breezes,  joerfumed  the  night 
with  their  voluptuous  fragrance,  and  the  roses,  twining 
round  the  carved  and  gilded  balustrade,  shook  ofl"  their 
bowed  head  drops  of  dew,  that  gleamed  brightly  as  the 
diamonds  among  the  curls  of  the  woman  who  leaned 
above,  resting  her  delicate  rouged  cheek  on  her  jewelled 
hand,  alone — a  very  rare  circumstance  with  the  Marquise 
de  la  Riviere.  Osmin  did  not  admire  the  rare  solitude, 
for  he  rattled  his  silver  bells  and  barked — an  Italian 
greyhound's  shrill,  fretful  bark — as  his  quick  ears  caught 
the  distant  sound  of  steps  coming  swiftly  over  the  turf 
below,  and  his  mistress  smiled  as  she  patted  his  head : 

"Ah,  Osmin!  —  here  he  is?" 

A  man  came  out  from  under  the  heavy  shadow  of  lime 
Band  chestnuts,  whose  darkness  the  moon's  rays  had  no 
power  to  pierce,  crossed  the  lawn  just  under  the  balcony, 
and,  coming  up  the  terrace-steps,  stood  near  her — a  man, 
young,  fair,  handsome,  whose  age  and  form  the  uniform 
of  a  Capta'n  of  the  Guards  would  have  suited  far  better 
than  the  dark  robes  of  a  priest,  which  he  wore ;  his  lips 
were  pressed  closely  together,  and  his  face  was  pale  witii 
a  pallor  that  consorted  painfully  with  the  warm  passion- 
ate gleam  of  his  eyes. 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  371 

So !     You  are  late  in  obeying  my  commands,  mou- 


Bieur 


Surely  no  other  man  in  France  would  have  stood  silent 
beside  her,  under  the  spell  of  her  dazzling  glances,  with 
such  a  picture  before  him  as  Madame  la  Marquise,  in  her 
azure  silk  and  her  point  d'Angleterre,  with  her  diamond 
pendants  shaking  among  her  hair,  and  her  arched  eye- 
brows lifted  imperiously !  But  he  did ;  his  lips  pressed 
closer,  his  eyes  gleaming  brighter.  She  changed  her  tone ; 
it  was  soft,  seductive,  reproachful,  and  the  smile  on  her 
lips  was  tender — as  tender  as  it  ever  could  be  with  the 
mockery  that  always  lay  under  it ;  and  it  broke  at  last 
the  spell  that  bound  him,  as  she  whispered,  "  Ah  !  Gaston, 
you  love  me  no  longer ! " 

"Not  love  you?     OGod!" 

They  were  but  five  words,  but  they  told  Madame  la 
Marquise  of  a  passion  such  as  she  had  never  roused, 
despite  all  her  fascinations  and  intrigues,  in  the  lovers 
that  crowded  round  her  in  the  salons  within,  or  at  Ver- 
sailles, over  the  trees  yonder,  where  love  was  gallantry, 
and  all  was  light  comedy,  with  nothing  so  foolish  as 
tragedy  known. 

He  clasped  her  hands  so  closely  that  the  sharp  points 
of  the  diamond  rings  cut  his  own,  though  he  felt  them 
not. 

"  Not  love  you  ?  Great  Heaven !  Not  love  you  ?  Near 
you,  I  forget  my  oath,  my  vows,  my  God !  —  I  forget  all, 
save  you,  whom  I  adore,  as,  till  I  met  you,  I  adored  my 
Church.  Torture  endured  with  you  were  dearer  than 
Paradise  won  alone !  Once  with  you,  I  have  no  strength, 
you  bow  me  to  your  will  as  the  wind  bows  the  lime-leaf 
Oh  !  woman,  woman !  could  you  have  no  mercy,  that  with 
crowds  round  you  daily  worshipping  your  slightest  smile, 
you  must  needs  bow  me  down  before  your  glance,  as  you 
bow  those  who  have  no  oaths  to  bind  them,  no  need  to 
ecourtre  themselves  in  midnijiht  solitude  for  the  mere  crimo 


372  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

of  Thought?  Had  you  no  mercy,  that  with  all  hearts 
yours,  you  must  have  mine  to  sear  it  and  destroy  it? 
Have  you  not  lives  enough  vowed  to  you,  that  you  seek 
to  blast  mine  for  ever  ?  I  was  content,  untroulaled,  till 
I  met  you ;  no  woman's  glance  stirred  my  heart,  no 
woman's  eyes  haunted  my  vigils,  no  woman's  voice  came 
in  memory  between  my  soul  and  prayer !  What  devil 
tempted  you  to  throw  your  spells  over  me — could  you 
not  leave  one  man  in  peace?" 

"Ah  bah!  the  tempted  love  the  game  of  temptation 
generally  full  as  well  as  the  tempters  ! "  thought  ]\Iadame 
la  Marquise,  with  an  inward  laugh. 

Wh)"^  did  she  allow  such  language  to  go  unrebuked  ? 
Why  did  she,  to  Avhom  none  dared  to  breathe  any  but 
words  the  most  polished,  and  love  vows  the  most  honeyed, 
permit  herself  to  be  addressed  in  such  a  strain  ?  Possibly 
it  was  very  new  to  her,  such  energy  as  this,  and  such  an 
outbreak  of  passion  amused  her.  At  any  rate  she  only 
drew  her  hands  away,  and  her  brilliant  brown  eyes  filled 
with  tears;  —  tears  were  to  be  had  at  Versailles  when 
needed,  even  her  friend  Montespan  knew  how  to  use  them 
as  the  worst  weapons  against  the  artillery  of  the  Eveque 
de  Comdom — and  her  heart  heaved  under  the  filmy  lace. 

"  Ah,  Gaston !  what  words !  '  What  devil  tempted  me  ? ' 
I  know  scarcely  Avhether  love  be  angel  or  devil ;  he  seems 
either  or  both !  But  you  love  me  little,  unless  in  that 
name  you  recognize  a  plea  for  every  madness  and  every 
thought ! " 

The  scarlet  blood  flushed  over  his  face,  and  his  eyes 
shone  and  gleamed  like  fire,  while  he  clenched  his  hands 
in  a  mortal  anguish. 

"  Angel  or  devil  ?  Ay !  which,  indeed !  The  one  when 
it  comes  to  us,  the  other  when  it  leaves  us !  You  have 
roused  love  in  me  I  shall  bear  to  my  grave ;  but  what 
gage  have  I  that  you  give  it  me  back  ?  How  do  I  know 
but  that  even  now  you  are  trifling  with  me,  mocking  at 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  373 

me,  smiling  at  the  beardless  priest  who  is  unlearned  in  all 
the  gay  gallantries  of  libertine  churchmen  and  soldierly 
courtiers  ?  My  Heaven  !  how  know,  as  I  stand  beside 
you,  whether  you  pity  or  disdain  me,  love  or  scorn  me  ? " 

The  passionate  words  broke  in  a  torrent  from  his  lips, 
stirred  the  stillness  of  the  summer  eve  with  a  fiery  anguish 
little  akin  to  it. 

"Do  I  not  love  you?" 

Her  answer  was  simple ;  but  as  Leontine  de  Rennecourt 
spoke  it,  leaning  her  cheek  against  his  breast,  with  her 
eyes  dazzling  as  the  diamonds  in  her  hair,  looking  up  into 
his  by  the  light  of  the  stars,  they  had  an  eloquence  far 
more  dangerous  than  speech,  and  delirious  to  the  senses 
as  magician's  perfumes.  His  lips  lingered  on  hers,  and 
felt  the  loud  fast  throbs  of  the  heart  she  had  won  as  he 
bent  over  her,  pressing  her  closer  and  closer  to  him — 
vanquished  and  conquered,  as  men  in  all  ages  and  of  all 
creeds  have  been  vanquished  and  conquered  by  women, 
all  other  thoughts  fleeing  away  into  oblivion,  all  fears 
dying  out,  all  vows  forgotten  in  the  warm,  living  life  of 
passion  and  of  joy,  that,  for  the  first  time  in  a  brief  life, 
flooded  his  heart  with  its  golden  voluptuous  light. 

"  You  love  me  ?  So  be  it,"  he  murmured  ;  "  but  beware 
what  you  do,  my  life  lies  in  your  hands,  and  you  must 
be  mine  till  death  part  us ! " 

"  Till  my  fancy  change  rather ! "  thought  Madame  la 
Marquise,  as  she  put  her  jewelled  hand  on  his  lips,  her 
hair  softly  brushing  his  cheek,  with  a  touch  as  soft,  and 
an  odor  as  sweet,  as  the  leaves  of  one  of  the  roses 
twining  below. 

Two  men  strolling  below  under  the  limes  of  Petite 
Foret — discussing  the  last  scandals  of  Versailles,  talking 
of  the  ascendency  of  La  Fontanges,  of  the  Spanish  dress 
his  Majesty  had  reassumed  to  please  her,  of  the  Brinvil- 
liers'  Poudre  de  Succession,  of  the  new  chateau  given  to 
Pferc  de  la  Chaise,  of  D'Aubigny's  last  extravagance  and 
82 


374  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

LauzAiu's  last  mot,  aud  the  last  gossip  about  Bossuet  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Maui^on,  and  all  the  chit-chat  of  thai 
varied  day,  glittering  with  wit  and  prolific  of  poison — 
glanced  up  to  the  balcony  by  the  light  of  the  stars. 

"  That  cursed  priest ! "  muttered  the  younger,  le  Vicorate 
de  Saint-Elix,  as  he  struck  the  head  off  a  lily  with  his 
delicate  cane. 

"  In  a  fool's  paradise !  Ah-ha !  Madame  la  Marquise ! " 
laughed  the  other — the  old  Due  de  Clos-Vougeot — taking 
a  chocolate  sweetmeat  out  of  his  emerald-studded  bonbon- 
niere  as  they  walked  on,  while  the  lime-blossoms  shook 
ofi"  in  the  summer  night  wind  and  dropped  dead  on  the 
grass  beneath,  laughing  at  the  story  of  the  box  D'Artag- 
uan  had  found  in  Lauzun's  rooms  when  he  seized  his 
papers,  containing  the  portraits  of  sixty  women  of  high 
degree  who  had  worshipped  the  resistless  Captain  of  the 
Guard,  with  critical  and  historical  notices  penned  under 
each ;  notices  D'Artagnan  and  his  aide  could  not  help 
indiscreetly  retailing,  in  despite  of  the  Bourbon  command 
of  secrecy — secrecy  so  necessary  where  sixty  beauties  and 
saints  were  involved ! 

"A  fool's  paradise!"  said  the  Due  de  Clos-Vougeot, 
tapping  his  bonbonniere,  enamelled  by  Petitot :  the  Due 
was  old,  and  knew  women  well,  and  knew  the  value  and 
length  of  a  paradise  dependent  on  that  most  fickle  of 
butterflies  —  female  fidelity ;  he  had  heard  Ninon  de 
Lenclos  try  to  j^ersuade  Scarron's  wife  to  become  a  co- 
quette, and  Scarron's  wife  in  turn  beseech  Ninon  to  dis- 
continue her  coquetteries ;  had  seen  that,  however  different 
their  theories  aud  practice,  the  result  was  the  same ;  and 
already  guessed  right,  that  if  Paris  had  been  universally 
won  by  the  one,  its  monarch  would  eventually  be  won  by 
the  other. 

"A  fool's  paradise!" 

The  courtier  was  right,  but  the  priest,  had  he  heard 
iiim,  would  never  have  believed;   his  heaven  shone  in 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  315 

those  dazzling  eyes:  till  the  eyes  closed  in  death,  his 
heaven  was  safe !  He  had  never  loved,  he  had  seen 
nothing  of  women  ;  he  had  come  straight  from  the  monas- 
tic gloom  of  a  Dominican  abbey,  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
South,  down  in  Languedoc,  where  costly  missals  were  his 
only  idol,  and  rigid  pietists,  profoundly  ignorant  of  the 
ways  and  thoughts  of  their  brethren  of  Paris,  had  reared 
him  up  in  anchorite  rigidity,  and  scourged  his  mind  with 
iron  philosophies  and  stoic-like  doctrines  of  self-mortifica- 
tion that  would  have  repudiated  the  sophistries  and 
ingenuities  of  Sanchez,  Escobar,  and  Mascarenhas,  as 
suggestions  of  the  very  Master  of  Evil  himself  From 
the  ascetic  gloom  of  that  Languedoc  convent  he  had  been 
brought  straight,  by  superior  will,  into  the  glare  of  the 
life  at  Versailles,  that  brilliant,  gorgeous,  sparkling, 
bizarre  life,  scintillating  with  wit,  brimful  of  intrigue, 
crowded  with  the  men  and  women  who  formed  the  Court 
of  that  age  and  the  History  of  the  next ;  where  he  found 
every  churchman  an  abbe  galant,  and  heard  those  who 
performed  the  mass  jest  at  it  with  those  who  attended  it ; 
where  he  found  no  lines  marked  of  right  and  wrong,  but 
saw  them  all  fused  in  a  gay,  tangled  web  of  two  court 
colors  —  Expediency  and  Pleasure.  A  life  that  dazzled 
and  tired  his  eyes,  as  the  glitter  of  lights  in  a  room  dazzles 
and  tires  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  comes  suddenly  in  from 
the  dark  night  air,  till  he  grew  giddy  and  sick,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  gilded  salons,  or  soft  confessions  of  titled 
sinners,  would  ask  himself  if  indeed  he  could  be  the  same 
man  who  had  sat  calm  and  grave  with  the  mellow  sun 
streaming  in  on  his  missal-page  in  the  monastic  gloom  of 
the  Languedoc  abbey  but  so  few  brief  months  before, 
when  all  this  world  of  Versailles  was  unknown  ?  The 
same  man?  Truly  not  —  never  again  the  same,  since 
Madame  la  Marquise  had  bent  her  brown  eyes  upon  him, 
been  amused  with  his  singular  diflerence  from  all  those 
around  her,  had  loved  him  as  women  loved  at  Versailles, 


376  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

and  bovved  him  down  to  her  feet,  before  he  guessed  tne 
name  of  the  forbidden  language  that  stirred  in  his  heart 
and  rushed  to  his  lips,  untaught  and  unbidden. 

"A  fool's  paradise!"  said  the  Due,  sagaciously  tapping 
his  gold  bonbonnifere.  But  many  a  paradise  like  it  has 
dawned  and  faded,  before  and  since  the  Versailles  of  Louis 
Quatorze. 

He  loved,  and  Madame  la  Marquise  loved  him.  Through 
one  brief  tumult  of  struggle  he  passed  :  struggle  between 
the  creed  of  the  Dominican  abbey,  where  no  sin  would 
have  been  held  so  thrice  accursed,  so  unpardonable,  so 
deserving  of  the  scourge  and  the  stake  as  this — and  the 
creed  of  the  Bourbon  Court,  where  churchmen's  gallantries 
were  every-day  gossip ;  where  the  Abbe  de  Rauce,  ere  he 
founded  the  saintly  gloom  of  La  Trappe,  scandalized 
town  and  court  as  much  as  Lauzun  ;  where  the  Pere  de 
la  Chaise  smiled  complacently  on  La  Fontanges'  ascend- 
ancy ;  where  three  nobles  rushed  to  pick  up  the  handker- 
chief of  that  royal  confessor,  who  washed  out  with  holy 
water  the  royal  indiscretions,  as  you  wash  off  grains  of 
dust  with  perfumed  water ;  where  the  great  and  saintly 
Bishop  of  Condom  could  be  checked  in  a  rebuking  ha- 
rangue, and  have  the  tables  turned  on  him  by  a  mischiev- 
ous reference  to  Mademoiselle  de  Mauleon ;  where  life 
was  intrigue  for  churchmen  and  laymen  alike,  and  where 
the  abbe's  rochet  and  the  cardinal's  scarlet  covered  the 
same  vices  as  were  openly  blazoned  on  the  gold  aiglettes 
of  the  Garde  du  Corps  and  the  costly  lace  of  the  Cham- 
bellan  du  Roi.  A  storm,  brief  and  violent  as  the  summer 
storms  that  raged  over  Versailles,  was  roused  between  the 
conflicting  thoughts  at  war  within  him,  between  the  prin- 
ciples deeply  rooted  from  long  habit  and  stern  belief,  and 
the  passions  sprung  up  unbidden  with  the  sudden  growth 
and  gorgeous  glow  of  a  tropical  flower  —  a  storm,  brief 
and  violent,  a  struggle,  ended  that  night,  when  he  stood 
on  the  balcony  with  the  woman  he  loved,  felt  her  lips 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  377 

upon  his,  and  bowed  down  to  her  feet  delirious  and 
strength  less. 

"  I  have  won  my  wager  with  Adeline ;  I  have  van- 
quished mo7i  beau  De  Launay,"  thought  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise, smiling,  two  days  after,  as  she  sat,  en  neglige,  in 
her  broidered  chair,  pulling  Osmin's  ears,  and  stirring 
the  frothy  chocolate  handed  to  her  by  her  negro,  Azor, 
brought  over  in  the  suite  of  the  African  embassy  from 
Ardra,  full  of  monkeyish  espieglerie,  and  covered  with 
gems — a  priceless  dwarf,  black  as  ink,  and  but  two  feet 
high,  who  could  match  any  day  with  the  Queen's  little 
Moor.  "  He  amuses  me  with  his  vows  of  eternal  love. 
Eternal  love?  —  how  de  trop  we  should  find  it,  here  in 
Versailles !  But  it  is  amusing  enough  to  play  at  for  a 
season.  No,  that  is  not  half  enough  —  he  adores!  This 
poor  Gaston ! " 

So  in  the  salons  of  Versailles,  and  in  the  world,  where 
Ninon  reigned,  by  the  Court  ladies,  while  they  loitered 
in  the  new-made  gardens  of  Marly,  among  other  similar 
things  jested  of  was  this  new  amour  of  Madame  de  la 
Riviere  for  the  young  Pere  de  Launay.  "  She  was  always 
eccentric,  and  he  ivas  very  handsome,  and  would  have 
charming  manners  if  he  were  not  so  grave  and  so  silent," 
the  women  averred ;  while  the  young  nobles  swore  that 
these  meddling  churchmen  had  always  the  best  luck, 
whether  in  amatory  conquest,  or  on  fat  lands  and  rich 
revenues.  What  the  Priest  of  Languedoc  thought  a  love 
that  would  outlast  life,  and  repay  him  for  peace  of  con- 
science and  heaven  both  lost,  was  only  one  of  the  passing 
bubbles  of  gossip  and  scandal  floating  for  an  hour,  amidst 
myriads  like  it,  on  the  glittering,  fast-rushing,  diamond- 
bi-iglit  waters  of  life  at  Versailles ! 

A  new  existence  had  dawned  for  him  ;  far  away  in  the 

dim  dusky  vista  of  forgotten  things,  though  in  reality 

barely  distant  a  few  short  months,  lay  the  old  life  in 

Languedoc,  vague  and  unremembercd  as  a  passed  dream ; 

82* 


S7S  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

with  its  calm  routine,  its  monastic  silence,  its  unvai'^ing 
alternations  of  study  and  prayer,  its  iron-bound  thoughts, 
its  rigid  creed.  It  had  sunk  away  as  the  peaceful  gray 
twilight  of  a  summer's  night  sinks  away  before  the  fiery 
burst  of  an  artificial  illumination,  and  a  new  life  had 
dawned  for  him,  radiant,  tumultuous,  conflicting,  delicious 
—  that  dazzled  his  eyes  with  the  magnificence  of  bound- 
less riches  and  unrestricted  extravagance ;  that  charmed 
his  intellect  with  the  witty  coruscations,  the  polished 
esprit,  of  an  age  unsurpassed  for  genius,  grace,  and  wit ; 
and  that  swayed  alike  his  heart,  his  imagination,  and  his 
passions  with  the  subtle  intoxication  of  this  syren  of  Love, 
whose  forbidden  song  had  never  before,  in  faintest  echo, 
fallen  on  his  ear. 

Far  away  in  the  dim,  lifeless,  pulseless  past,  sank  the 
memory  of  the  old  Dominican  abbey,  of  all  it  had  taught 
him,  of  all  it  had  exacted,  in  its  iron,  stoical,  merciless 
creed.  A  new  life  had  arisen  f^r  him,  and  Gaston  de 
Launay,  waking  from  the  semi-slumber  of  the  living 
death  he  had  endured  in  Languedoc,  and  liked  because 
he  knew  no  other,  was  happy — happy  as  a  prisoner  is  in 
the  wild  delight  with  which  he  welcomes  the  sunlight 
after  lengthened  imprisonment,  happy  as  an  opium-eater 
is  in  the  delicious  delirium  that  succeeds  the  lulling  soft- 
ness of  the  opiate. 

"  He  loves  me,  poor  Gaston  !  Bah  !  But  how  strangely 
he  talks !  If  love  were  this  fiery,  changeless,  earnest 
thing  with  us  that  it  is  with  him,  what  in  the  Avorld  should 
we  do  with  it  ?  We  should  have  to  get  a  lettre  de  cachet 
for  it,  and  forbid  it  the  Court;  send  it  in  exile  to  Pignerol, 
as  they  have  just  done  Lauzun.  Love  in  earnest  ?  AVe 
should  lose  the  best  spice  for  our  wine,  the  best  toy  for 
our  games,  and,  mon  Dieu !  what  embroilments  there 
would  be!  Love  in  earnest ?  Bagatelle!  Louise  de  la 
Valliere  shows  us  the  folly  of  that;  but  for  its  Quixot- 
isms  she  would  now  be  at  Vaujours,  instead  of  burled 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  379 

alive  in  -that  Rue  St.  Jacques,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to 
weep  for  '  Louison,'  count  her  beads,  and  listen  to  M.  de 
Condom's  merciless  eloquence  !     Like  the  king, 

J'aime  qu'on  m'aime,  mais  avec  de  I'esprit. 

People  have  no  right  to  reproach  each  other  with  incon- 
stancy ;  one's  caprices  are  not  in  one's  own  keeping ;  and 
one  can  no  more  help  where  one's  fancy  blows,  than  that 
lime-leaf  can  help  where  the  breeze  chooses  to  waft  it. 
But  poor  Gaston!  how  make  hhn  comprehend  that?" 
thought  Madame  la  Marquise,  as  she  turned,  and  smiled, 
and  held  out  her  warm,  jewelled  hands,  and  listened  once 
again  to  the  words  of  the  man  who  was  in  her  power  as 
utterly  as  the  bird  in  the  power  of  the  snake  when  it  has 
once  looked  up  into  the  fatal  eyes  that  lure  it  on  to  its 
doom. 

"  You  will  love  me  ever  ? "  he  would  ask,  resting  his 
lips  on  her  white  low  brow. 

"Ever!"  would  softly  answer  Madame  la  Marquise. 

And  her  lover  believed  her:  should  his  deity  lie?  He 
believed  her !  What  did  he,  fresh  from  the  solitude  of 
his  monastery,  gloomy  and  severe  as  that  of  the  Trappist 
abbey,  with  its  perpetual  silence,  its  lowered  glances,  its 
shrouded  faces,  its  ever-present  "  memento  mori,"  know 
of  women's  faith,  of  women's  love,  of  the  sense  in  which 
they  meant  that  vow  "for  ever"?  He  believed  her,  and 
never  asked  what  would  be  at  the  end  of  a  path  strewn 
with  such  odorous  flowers.  Alone,  it  is  true,  in  moments 
when  he  paused  to  think,  he  stood  aghast  at  the  abyss 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  at  the  sin  into  which,  a  few 
months  before,  haughty  and  stern  in  virtue  against  the 
temptation  that  had  never  entered  his  path,  he  would 
have  defied  devils  in  legion  to  have  lured  him,  yet  into 
which  he  had  now  plunged  at  the  mere  smile  of  a  woman! 
Out  of  her  presence,  out  of  her  spells,  standing  by  him- 
self under  the  same  skies  that  had  biooded  over  his  days 


380  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZB. 

of  peace  in  Languedoc,  back  on  his  heart,  with  a  sicken 
ing  anguish,  would  come  the  weight  of  his  sin ;  the  bur- 
den of  his  broken  oaths,  the  scorch  of  that  curse  eternal 
which,  by  his  creed,  he  held  drawn  down  on  him  here 
and  hereafter;  and  Gaston  de  Launay  would  struggle 
again  against  this  idolatrous  passion,  which  had  come 
with  its  fell  delusion  betwixt  him  and  his  God ;  struggle 
— vainly,  idly — struggle,  only  to  hug  closer  the  sin  he 
loved  Avhile  he  loathed ;  only  to  drink  deeper  of  the 
draught  whose  voluptuous  perfume  was  poison ;  only  to 
forget  all,  forsake  all,  dare  ail,  at  one  whisper  of  her 
voice,  one  glance  of  her  eyes,  one  touch  of  the  lips  whose 
caress  he  held  would  be  bought  by  a  curse  through 
eternity. 

Few  women  love  aught  "for  ever,"  save,  perchance, 
diamonds,  lace,  and  their  own  beauty,  and  Madame  la 
Marquise  was  not  one  of  those  few;  certainly  not — she 
had  no  desire  to  make  herself  singular  in  her  generation, 
and  could  set  fashions  much  more  likely  to  find  disciples, 
without  reverting  to  anything  so  eccentric,  plebeian,  and 
out  of  date.  Love  one  for  ever !  She  would  have  thought 
it  as  terrible  waste  of  her  fascinations,  as  for  a  jewel  to 
shine  in  the  solitude  of  its  case,  looked  on  by  only  one 
pair  of  eyes,  or  for  a  priceless  enamel,  by  Petitot,  to  be 
only  worn  next  the  heart,  shrouded  away  from  the  light 
of  day,  hidden  under  the  folds  of  linen  and  lace. 

"Love  one  for  ever?" — Madame  la  Marquise  laughed 
ttt  the  thought,  as  she  stood  dressed  for  a  ball,  after  assist- 
ing at  the  representation  of  a  certain  tragedy,  called 
"Berenice"  (in  which  Mesdames  Deshoulieres  and  De 
Sevigne,  despite  their  esprit,  alone  of  all  Paris  and  the 
Court  could  see  no  beauty),  and  glanced  in  the  mirror  at 
her  radiant  face,  her  delicate  skin,  her  raven  curls,  with 
their  pendants  shaking,  her  snow-white  arms,  and  her 
costly  dress  of  the  newest  mode,  its  stomacher  gleaming 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  383 

one  mass  of  gems.    "  Love  one  for  ever  ?    The  droll  idea^ 
Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  loved  him  once?" 

It  was  more  than  enough  for  his  rivals,  who  bitterly 
envied  him  ;  courtly  abbes,  with  polished  smiles,  and 
young  chanoines,  with  scented  curls  and  velvet  toques, 
courtiers,  who  piqued  themselves  on  reputations  only 
second  to  Lauzun's,  and  men  of  the  world,  who  laughed 
at  this  new  caprice  of  Madame  la  Marquise,  alike  bore 
no  good  will  to  this  Languedoc  priest,  and  gave  him  a 
significant  sneer,  or  a  compliment  that  roused  his  blood 
to  fire,  and  stung  him  far  worse  than  more  open  insult, 
when  they  met  in  the  salons,  or  crossed  in  the  corridors, 
at  Versailles  or  Petite  Foret. 

"  Those  men  !  those  men !  Should  he  ever  lose  her  to 
any  one  of  them?"  he  would  think  over  and  over  again, 
clenching  his  hand,  in  impotent  agony  of  passion  that  he 
had  not  the  sword  and  the  license  of  a  soldier  to  strike 
them  on  the  lips  with  his  glove  for  the  smile  with  which 
they  dared  to  speak  her  name ;  to  make  them  wash  out 
in  blood  under  the  trees,  before  the  sun  was  up,  the  laugh, 
the  mot,  the  delicate  satire,  which  were  worse  to  bear 
than  a  blow  to  the  man  who  could  not  avenge  them. 

"  Pardieu  !  Madame  must  be  very  unusually  faithful 
to  her  handsome  Priest ;  she  has  smiled  on  no  other  for 
two  months !  What  unparalleled  fidelity ! "  said  the 
Vicomte  de  Saint-Elix,  with  petulant  irritation. 

"Jealous,  Leonce?"  laughed  the  old  Due,  whom  he 
spoke  to,  tapping  the  medallion  portrait  on  his  bonbon- 
niere.  "  Take  comfort :  when  the  weather  has  been  so 
long  fixed,  it  is  always  near  a  change.  Ah !  M.  de  Lau- 
nay  overhears !  He  looks  as  if  he  would  slay  us.  Very 
unchristian  in  a  priest ! " 

Gaston  de  Launay  overheard,  as  he  stood  by  a  croisee 
at  Petite  Foret,  playing  with  Osmin  —  he  liked  even  the 
dog,  since  the  hand  he  loved  so  often  lay  on  its  slender 
neck,  and  toyed  with  its  silver  chain.     And,  sworn  as  he 


382  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

was  to  the  service  of  his  Church,  sole  mistress  as  his 
Church  had  been,  till  Leontine  de  Rennecourt's  eyes  had 
lured  him  to  his  desertion  of  her,  apostate  in  his  own  eyes 
as  such  a  thought  confessed  him  to  have  grown,  he  now 
loathed  the  garb  of  a  priest,  that  bound  his  hands  from 
vengeance,  and  made  him  powerless  before  insult  as  a 
woman.  Fierce,  ruthless  longing  for  revenge  upon  these 
men  seized  on  him  ;  devilish  desires,  the  germ  of  which 
till  that  hour  he  never  dreamt  slumbered  within  him, 
woke  up  into  dangerous,  vigorous  life.  Had  he  lived  in 
the  world,  its  politic  reserve,  its  courtly  sneer,  its  light 
gallantries,  that  passed  the  time  and  flattered  amour-pro- 
pre, its  dissimulated  hate  that  smiled  while  plotting,  and 
killed  with  poisoned  bonbons,  would  never  have  been 
learnt  by  him ;  and  having  long  lived  out  of  it,  having 
been  suddenly  plunged  into  its  whirl,  not  guessing  its 
springs,  ignorant  of  its  diplomacies,  its  suave  lies,  termed 
good  breeding,  its  legeres  philosophies,  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  wisdom  with  which  its  wise  men  forsook  their  loves 
and  concealed  their  hatreds.  Both  passions  now  sprung 
up  in  him  at  one  birth,  both  the  stronger  for  the  long 
years  in  which  a  chill,  artificial,  but  unbroken  calm,  had 
chained  his  very  nature  down,  and  fettered  into  an  iron 
monotony,  an  unnatural  and  colorless  tranquillity,  a  char- 
acter originally  impetuous  and  vivid,  as  the  frosts  of  a 
winter  chill  into  one  cold,  even,  glassy  surface,  the  rapids 
of  a  tumultuous  river.  With  the  same  force  and  strength 
with  which,  in  the  old  days  in  Languedoc,  he  had  idol- 
ized and  served  his  Church,  sparing  himself  no  mortifica- 
tion, believing  every  iota  of  her  creed,  carrying  out  her 
slightest  rule  with  merciless  self-examination,  so  —  the 
tide  once  turned  the  other  way — so  the  priest  now  loved, 
so  he  now  hated. 

"  He  is  growing  exigeant,  jealous,  presuming ;  he 
amiises  me  no  longer — he  wearies.  I  must  give  him  hia 
conge,"  thought  Madame  la  Marquise.     "  This  play  at 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  383 

eternal  passion  is  very  amusing  for  a  \vhile,  but,  like  all 
thintrs,  irets  tiresome  when  it  has  lasted  some  time.  What 
does  not  ?  Poor  Gaston,  it  is  his  provincial  ideas,  but  he 
will  soon  rub  such  off,  and  find,  like  us  all,  that  sincerity 
is  troublesome,  ever  de  trop,  and  never  profitable.  Ho 
loves  me — but  bah !  so  does  Saint-Elix,  so  do  they  all, 
and  a  jealous  husband  like  M.  de  Nesmond,  le  drole! 
could  scarcely  be  worse  than  my  young  De  Launay  ia 
growing!" 

And  Madame  la  Marquise  glanced  at  her  face  in  the 
mirror,  and  wished  she  knew  Madame  de  Maintenon's 
secret  for  the  Breuvage  Indien ;  wished  she  had  one  of 
the  clefs  de  faveur  to  admit  her  to  the  Grande  Salle  du 
Parlement ;  wished  she  had  the  coiironne  d'Ac/rippine 
her  friend  Athenais  had  just  shown  her  ;  wished  Le  Brun 
were  not  now  occupied  on  the  ceiling  of  the  King's  Grande 
Galerie,  and  were  free  to  paint  the  frescoes  of  her  own 
new-built  chapel ;  wished  a  thousand  unattainable  things, 
as  spoilt  children  of  fortune  will  do,  and  swept  down  her 
chateau  staircase  a  little  out  of  temj^er — she  could  not 
have  told  why  —  to  receive  her  guests  at  a  fete  given  in 
honor  of  the  marriage  of  Mademoiselle  de  Blois  and  the 
Prince  de  Conti. 

There  was  the  young  Comte  de  Vermandois,  who  would 
recognize  in  the  Dauphin  no  superiority  save  that  of  his 
'^frere  aine ; "  there  was  "  le  petit  bossu"  Prince  Eugene, 
then  soliciting  the  rochet  of  a  Bishop,  and  equally  rid- 
iculed when  he  sought  a  post  in  the  army ;  there  was  M. 
de  Louvois,  who  had  just  signed  the  order  for  the  Drag- 
onades ;  there  was  the  Palatine  de  Baviere,  with  her  Ger- 
man brusquerie,  who  had  just  clumsily  tried  to  insult 
Madame  de  Montcspan  by  coming  into  the  salon  with  a 
great  turnspit,  led  by  a  similar  ribbon  and  called  by  the 
same  name,  in  ridicule  of  the  pet  Montespan  poodle ; 
there  was  La  Montespan  herself,  with  her  lovely  gold 
hair,  her  dove's  eyes,  and  her  serpent's  tongue;  there  v.as 


884  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

Madame  de  Sevigne  and  Madame  de  Grignan,  the  Ducli- 
esse  de  Richelieu  and  the  Duchesse  de  Lesdiguieres  ; 
there  was  Bussy  Rabutiu  and  Hamilton.  Who  was  there 
not  that  was  brilliant,  that  was  distinguished,  that  was 
high  in  rank  and  famed  in  wit  at  the  fete  of  Madame  la 
Marquise? — Madame  la  Marquise,  who  floated  through 
(he  crowd  that  glittered  in  her  salon  and  gardens,  who 
laughed  and  smiled,  showing  her  dazzling  white  teeth, 
who  had  a  little  Cupid  gleaming  Avith  jewels  (emblematic 
enough  of  Cupid  as  he  was  known  at  Versailles)  to  pre- 
sent the  Princesse  de  Conti  with  a  bridal  bouquet  whose 
flowers  were  of  pearls  and  whose  leaves  were  of  emeralds; 
who  piqued  herself  that  the  magnificence  of  her  fete  was 
scarcely  eclipsed  by  His  Majesty  himself;  who  yielded 
the  palm  neither  to  La  Valliere's  lovely  daughter,  nor  to 
her  friend  Athenais,  nor  to  any  one  of  the  beauties  who 
shone  with  them,  and  whose  likeness  by  Mignard  laughed 
down  from  the  wall  where  it  hung,  matchless  double  of 
her  own  matchless  self. 

The  Priest  of  Languedoc  watched  her,  the  relentles^s 
fangs  of  passion  gnawing  his  heart,  as  the  wolf  the  Spar- 
tan. For  the  first  time  he  was  forgotten !  His  idol 
passed  him  carelessly,  gave  him  no  glance,  no  smile,  but 
lavished  a  thousand  coquetteries  on  Saint-Elix,  on  De 
Rohan-Soubise,  on  the  boy  Vermandois,  —  on  any  who 
sought  them.  Once  he  addressed  her.  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise shrugged  her  snow-white  shoulders,  and  arched  her 
eyebrows  with  petulant  irritation,  and  turned  to  laugh 
gayly  at  Saint-Elix,  who  was  amusing  her,  and  La  Montes- 
pan,  and  Madame  de  Thianges,  with  some  gay  mischiev- 
ous scandal  concerning  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres  and  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris ;  for  scandals,  if  not  wholly  new^ 
are  ever  diverting  when  concerning  an  enemy,  especially 
when  dressed  and  served  up  with  the  piquant  sauce 
of  wit 

"  I  no  longer  then,  madame,  lead  a  dog's  life  in  jealousy 


A    STUDY    X    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  385 

of  this  priest?"  whispered  Saint-Elix,  after  other  whis- 
pers, in  the  ear  of  Madame  la  Marquise.  The  Vicomte 
adored  her,  not  truly  in  Languedoc  fashion,  but  very 
warmly — k  la  mode  de  Versailles. 

The  Marquise  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  not !  You  know  I  bet  Mme.  de  Montevreau 
tiaat  I  would  conquer  him.  I  have  won  now.  Hush! 
He  is  close.     There  will  be  a  tragedy,  mon  ami!" 

"  M.  le  Vicomte,  if  you  have  the  honor  of  a  noble,  the 
heart  of  a  man,  you  fight  me  to-night.  /  seek  no  shelter 
under  my  cloth  ! " 

Saint-Elix  turned  as  he  heard  the  words,  laughed 
scornfully,  and  signed  the  speaker  away  with  an  insolent 
sneer : 

"  Bah !  Reverend  P^re !  we  do  not  fight  with  women 
and  churchmen ! " 

The  fete  was  ended  at  last,  the  lights  that  had  gleamed 
among  the  limes  and  chestnuts  had  died  out,  the  gardens 
and  salons  were  emptied  and  silent,  the  little  Cupid  had 
laid  aside  his  weighty  jewelled  wings,  the  carriages  with 
their  gorgeous  liveries,  their  outriders,  and  their  guards 
of  honor,  had  rolled  from  the  gates  of  Petite  Foret  to 
the  Palace  of  Versailles.  Madame  la  Marquise  stood 
alone  once  more  in  the  balcony  of  her  salons,  leaning  her 
white  arms  on  its  gilded  balustrade,  looking  down  on  to 
the  gardens  beneath,  silvered  with  the  breaking  light  of 
the  dawn,  smiling,  her  white  teeth  gleaming  between  her 
parted  rose-hued  lips,  and  thinking — of  what?  Who 
shall  say  ? 

Still,  still  as  death  lay  the  gardens  below,  that  an  hour 
ago  had  been  peopled  with  a  glittering  crowd,  re-echoing 
with  music,  laughter,  witty  response,  words  of  intrigue. 
Where  the  lights  had  shone  on  diamonds  and  pearl- 
broidered  trains,  on  softly  rouged  cheeks,  and  gold-laced 
coats,  on  jewelled  swords  and  broideries  of  gold,  the  gray 
liue  of  the  breaking  day  now  only  fell  on  the  silvcrud 
83  Z 


386       A  STUDY  A  LA  LOUIS  QUATORZB. 

leaves  of  the  limes,  the  turf  wet  with  dew,  the  drooped 
heads  of  the  Provence  roses ;  and  Madame  la  Marquise, 
standing  alone,  started  as  a  step  through  the  salon  within 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Madame,  will  you  permit  me  a  word  now  f " 

Gaston  de  Launay  took  her  hands  off  the  balustrade, 
and  held  them  tight  in  his,  while  his  voice  sounded,  even 
in  his  own  ears,  strangely  calm,  yet  strangely  harsh : 

"Madame,  you  love  me  no  longer?" 

"  Monsieur,  I  do  not  answer  questions  put  to  me  in  such 
a  manner." 

She  would  have  drawn  her  hands  away,  but  he  held 
them  in  a  fierce  grasp  till  her  rings  cut  his  skin,  as  they 
had  done  once  before. 

"  No  trifling !     Answer — yes  or  no ! " 

"  Well !  *  no,'  then,  monsieur.  Since  you  will  have  the 
truth,  do  not  blame  me  if  you  find  it  uncomplimentary 
and  unacceptable." 

He  let  go  her  hands  and  reeled  back,  staggered,  as  if 
struck  by  a  shot. 

"  Mon  Dieu !  it  is  true — you  love  me  no  longer !  And 
you  tell  it  me  thiis  !  " 

Madame  la  Marquise,  for  an  instant,  was  silenced  and 
touched ;  for  the  words  were  uttered  with  the  faint  cry  of 
a  man  in  agony,  and  she  saw,  even  by  the  dim  twilight 
of  dawn,  how  livid  his  lips  turned,  how  ashy  gray  grew 
the  hue  of  his  face.  But  she  smiled,  playing  with 
Osmin's  new  collar  of  pearls  and  coral. 

"Tell  it  you  'thus'?  I  Avould  not  have  told  it  you 
*thus,*  monsieur,  if  you  had  been  content  with  a  hint,  and 
had  not  evinced  so  strong  a  desire  for  candor  undisguised ; 
but  if  people  will  not  comprehend  a  delicate  suggestion, 
they  must  be  wounded  by  plainer  truths — it  is  their  own 
fault.  Did  you  think  I  was  like  a  little  shephcn-dess  in  a 
pastoral,  to  play  the  childish  game  of  constancy  without 


A   STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATOEZE.  38Y 

variations  ?     Had  you  presumption  enough  to  fancy  you 
could  amuse  me  for  ever " 

He  stopped  her,  his  voice  broken  and  hoarse,  as  he 
gasped  for  breath. 

"Silence!  Woman,  have  you  no  mercy ?  For  you  — 
for  such  as  you — I  have  flung  away  heaven,  steeped 
myself  in  sin,  lost  my  church,  my  peace,  my  all — for- 
feited! all  right  to  the  reverence  of  my  fellows,  all  hope 
for  the  smile  of  my  God !  For  you — for  such  as  you — 
I  have  become  a  traitor,  a  hypocrite,  an  apostate,  whose 
prayers  are  insults,  whose  professions  are  lies,  whose  oaths 
are  perjury !  At  your  smile,  I  have  flung  away  eternity  ; 
for  your  kiss,  I  have  risked  my  life  here,  my  life  here- 
after ;  for  your  love,  I  held  no  price  too  vast  to  pay : 
weighed  with  it,  honor,  faith,  heaven,  all  seemed  value- 
less— all  were  forgotten !  You  lured  me  from  tranquil 
calm,  you  broke  in  on  the  days  of  peace  which  but  for 
you  were  unbroken  still,  you  haunted  my  prayers,  you 
placed  yourself  between  Heaven  and  me,  you  planned  to 
conquer  my  anchorite's  pride,  you  wagered  you  would 
lure  me  from  my  priestly  vows,  and  yet  you  have  so  little 
mercy,  that  when  your  bet  is  won,  when  your  amusement 
grows  stale,  when  the  victory  grows  valueless,  you  can 
turn  on  me  with  words  like  these  without  one  self- 
reproach  ?  " 

"  Ma  foi,  monsieur  1  it  is  you  who  may  reproach  your- 
self, not  I,"  cried  his  hearer,  insolently.  "Are  you  so 
very  provincial  still,  that  you  are  ignorant  that  when  a 
lover  has  ceased  to  please  he  has  to  blame  his  own  lack 
of  power  to  retain  any  love  he  may  have  won,  and  is  far 
too  well-bred  to  utter  a  complaint?  Your  language  ia 
very  new  to  me.  Most  men,  monsieur,  would  be  grateful 
for  my  slightest  preference ;  I  permit  none  to  rebuke  me 
for  either  giving  or  withdrawing  it." 

The  eyes  of  Madame  la  Marquise  sparkled  angrily,  and 
the  smile  on  her  lips  was  a  deadly  one,  full  of  irony,  full 


388  A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE. 

of  malice.  As  he  beheld  it,  the  scales  fell  at  last  from 
the  eyes  of  Gaston  de  Launay,  and  he  saw  what  thia 
woman  was  whom  he  had  worshipped  with  such  mad, 
blind,  idolatrous  passion. 

He  bowed  his  head  with  a  low,  broken  moan,  as  a  man 
stunned  by  a  mortal  blow ;  while  Madame  la  Marquise 
stood  playing  with  the  pearl-and-coral  chain,  and  smiling 
the  malicious  and  mischievous  smile  that  showed  her 
white  teeth,  as  they  are  shown  in  the  portrait  by 
Mignard. 

"  Comme  les  homines  sont  fous !  "  laughed  Madame  la 
Marquise. 

He  lifted  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  in 
the  faint  light  of  the  dawn,  with  her  rich  dress,  her  gleam- 
ing diamonds,  her  wicked  smile,  her  matchless  beauty ; 
and  the  passion  in  him  broke  out  in  a  bitter  cry : 

"  God  help  me !     My  sin  has  brought  home  its  curse ! " 

He  bent  over  her,  his  burning  lips  scorching  her  own 
like  fire,  holding  her  in  one  last  embrace,  that  clasped 
her  in  a  vice  of  iron  she  had  no  power  to  break. 

"Angel!  devil!  temptress!  This  for  what  I  have 
deemed  thee — that  for  what  thou  art !  " 

He  flung  her  from  him  with  unconscious  violence,  and 
left  her — lying  where  she  fell. 

The  gray  silvery  dawn  rose,  and  broke  into  the  warmth 
and  sunlight  of  a  summer  day ;  the  deer  nestled  in  their 
couches  under  the  chequered  shadows  of  the  woodlands 
round,  and  the  morning  chimes  were  rung  in  musical 
carillons  from  the  campanile  of  the  chateau;  the  Pro- 
vence roses  tossed  their  delicate  heads,  joyously  shaking 
the  dew  off  their  scented  petals ;  the  blossoms  of  the  lim&s 
fell  in  a  fragrant  shower  on  the  turf  below,  and  the  boughs, 
swayed  softly  by  the  wind,  brushed  their  leaves  against 
the  sparkling  waters  of  the  fountains;  the  woods  and 
gardens  of  Petite  Foret  lay,  bright  and  laughing,  in  the 


A    STUDY    A    LA    LOUIS    QUATORZE.  389 

mellow  sunlight  of  the  new  day  to  which  the  world  waa 
waking.  And  with  his  face  turned  up  to  the  sky,  clasped 
in  his  hand  a  medallion  enamel  on  which  was  painted  the 
head  of  a  woman,  the  grass  and  ferns  where  he  had  fallen 
stained  crimson  with  his  life-blood,  lay  a  dead  man,  while 
in  his  bosom  nestled  a  little  dog,  moaning  piteous,  plain- 
tive cries,  and  vainly  seeking  its  best  to  wake  him  to  the 
day  that  for  him  would  never  dawn. 

When  her  household,  trembling,  spread  the  news  that 
the  dead  priest  had  been  found  lying  under  the  limes, 
slain  by  his  own  hand,  and  it  reached  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise in  her  private  chambers,  she  was  startled,  shocked, 
wept,  hiding  her  radiant  eyes  in  her  broidered  handker- 
chief, and  called  Azor,  and  bade  him  bring  her  her  flask 
of  scented  waters,  and  bathed  her  eyes,  and  turned  them 
dazzling  bright  on  Saint-Elix,  and  stirred  her  chocolate 
and  asked  the  news,  "  On  petit  etre  emue  aux  larvies  et 
aimer  le  chocolat,"  thought  Madame  la  Marquise,  with  her 
friend  Montespan ; — while,  without,  under  the  waving 
shadow  of  the  linden-boughs,  with  the  sunlight  streaming 
round  him,  the  little  dog  nestling  in  his  breast,  refusing 
to  be  comforted,  lay  the  man  whom  she  had  murdered. 

The  portrait  of  Mignard  still  hangs  on  the  walls  of  the 
chateau,  and  in  its  radiant  colors  Madame  la  Marquise 
still  lives,  fair  type  of  her  age,  smiling  her  victorious 
smile,  with  the  diamonds  shining  among  her  hair,  and 
her  brilliant  eyes  flashing  defiance,  irony,  and  coquetry 
as  of  yore,  when  she  reigned  amidst  the  beauties  of  Ver- 
sailles;— and  in  the  gardens  beyond,  in  the  summer 
nights,  the  lime-boughs  softly  shake  their  fragrant  flowera 
on  the  turf,  and  the  moonlight  falls  in  hushed  and  mourn- 
ful calm,  streaming  through  the  network  of  the  boughs 
oi:  to  the  tangled  mass  of  violets  and  ferns  that  has  grown 
up  in  rank  luxuriance  over  the  spot  where  Gaston  de 
Launay  died. 


Popular  Authors 
and  their  Works 


FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  BOOKSELLERS, 

OR  WILL  BE  SENT,  POST-PAID,   UPON  RECEIPT 

OF  PRICE  BY  THE  PUBLISHERS. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY, 

715  and  717  Market  Street, 
Philadelphia. 


By  Elizabeth  Phipps  Train 


/SSUED  IN  THE  LOTOS  LIBRARY. 
ILLUSTRATED.  l6MO.  POLISHED 
BUCKRAM.     75   CENTS    PER   VOL. 


THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF 
A  PROFESSIONAL  BEAUTY. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  confession,  admirably  written,  and  the  story  throughout 
is  delightfully  fresh  and  vivacious." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  The  author  gives  in  this  handsome  little  book  a  charming  glimpse  of  ultra- 
fashionable  English  society.  It  has  an  air  of  truth  which  makes  its  moral  the  more 
impressive,  and  the  characters  are  well  drawn." — Colutttbus  Evening  Dispatch. 

"  This  is  a  profoundly  interesting  loTe  story.  Its  plot  is  simple,  natural,  and 
life-like — often  approaching  the  tragic.  The  dangers  from  the  abuse  of  the  powers 
of  hypnotism  are  strikingly  illustrated." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


A  SOCIAL  HIGHWAYMAN. 

"  There  is  a  consistency  of  bold  purpose  in  the  book  which  makes  it  the  re- 
verse of  mawkish.  It  is  a  kind  of  modernized  Dick  Turpin." — Chicago  Times- 
Herald. 

"  'A  Social  Highwayman,'  a  small  and  dainty  volume  in  Lippincott's  Lotos 
Library,  is  a  distinctly  interesting,  almost  a  fascinating,  story." — Brooklyn  Daiir 
Eagle. 

"  The  J.  IJ.  Lippincott  Company  has  issued  in  the  Lotos  Library,  in  a  hand- 
some little  volume,  with  illustrations, 'A  Social  Highwayman,'  by  Elizabeth  Phipps 
Train,  which  originally  a.\i\>ca.reA\n  Lipfiincott' s  Magazi7te.  This  thrillingly  dra- 
matic story,  always  intensely  absorbing,  has  acquired  a  new  interest  since  it  was 
turned  into  a  play,  and  many  will  be  anxious  to  compare  it  with  the  drama  which 
bears  the  same  name.  The  tale  has  abundant  life  and  movement,  and  commands 
and  retains  attention." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Joseph  Hatton. 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK. 

A  Tale  of   Love  and  War.      With  ten  full-page  illustrations  oy  B.  West 
Clinedinst.     Large  lamo.     Cloth  extra,  J1.50. 

"  The  present  story  is  one  that  is  calculated  to  stir  the  deepest  feelings  that 
enter  into  human  experience.  It  is  of  the  masterly  order,  and  therefore  will  confi- 
dently command  readers  even  while  inviting  them." — Boston  Courier. 

"Joseph  Hatton  has  written  many  successful  volumes  of  incident,  but  in 
none  of  them  has  he  given  us  a  more  stirring  romance  than  in  his  latest  novel, 
'  When  Greek  Meets  Greek.'  The  characters  are  drawn  with  a  skilful  hand,  and 
the  scenes  follow  each  other  in  rapid  succession,  each  teeming  with  interest  and 
vigor." — Boston  Advtrtiser. 


THE   BANISHMENT   OF 
JESSOP   BLYTHE. 

In  Lippincott's  Series  of  Select  Novels.    i2mo.-  Cloth,  $1.00;  paper, 
50  cents. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  strongest  stories  of  the  year,  remarkably  graphic  in  its 
descriptions  of  the  wild  and  wonderful  scenery  amidst  which  its  action  is  located, 
and  equally  remarkable  for  the  character  drawing  of  the  real  men  and  women  who 
figure  in  it." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  The  author  has  depicted  clearly  a  true  socialistic  organization  on  a  smal! 
scale,  which  seems  as  though  it  might  have  been  founded  on  fact.  It  is  a  strong 
story,  extremely  well  told,  and  will  attract  attention  as  much  for  its  socialistic  ideas 
as  for  its  romantic  features." — Satt  Francisco  ChronicU. 


CIGARETTE  PAPERS. 

lamo.     Cloth,  ^1.75. 

After-dinner  chats  they  certainly  are,  such  as  congenial  comrades  over  the 
nuts,  etc.,  utter  in  fragmentary  sentences  between  the  long  contemplative  puffs  of 
a  cigar.  The  illustrations  throughout  the  text  add  to  the  beauty  of  an  already 
attractive  volume. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett  Cameron. 


A  Tragic  Blunder, 
A  Daughter's  Heart. 

Jack's  Secret. 


A  Bad  Lot. 
A  Sister's  Sin. 


lamo.     Paper,  50  cents ;  cloth,  Ji.oo. 


"  Mrs.  Cameron's  novels,  '  In  a  Grass  Country,'  '  A  Daughter's  Heart,' 
'  A  Sister's  Sin,'  '  Jack's  Secret,'  have  shown  a  high  skill  in  inventing  interesting 
plots  and  delineating  character.  All  her  stories  are  vivid  in  action  and  pure  in 
;one.     This  one,  '  A  Tragic  Blunder,'  is  equal  to  her  best." — National  Tribune. 


This  Wielded  World. 
In  a  Grass  Country.  A  Devout  Lover. 

Vera  Neville.  A  Life's  Mistake. 

Pure  Gold.  Worth  Winning. 

The  Cost  of  a  Lie.  A  Lost  Wife. 

Cloth,  Ji.oo. 


"  The  works  of  this  author  are  always  pure  in  character,  and  can  be  safely  put 
iBto  the  hands  of  young  as  well  as  old." — Norristown  Herald. 

"  A  wide  circle  of  admirers  always  welcome  a  new  work  by  this  favorite  author. 
Her  styie  is  pure  and  interesting,  and  she  depicts  marvellously  well  the  daily  social 
life  of  the  English  people." — St.  Louis  Republic. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Juiien  Gordon. 


"Now  and  then,  to  prove  to  men— perhaps  also  to  prove  to 
themselves— ivhat  they  can  do  if  they  dare  and  zaill,  one  of 
these  gifted  women  detaches  herself  from  her  sisters,  enters  the 
arefia  with  men,  to  fight  for  the  highest  prizes,  and  as  the 
brave  Gotz  says  of  Brother  Martin,  '  shames  many  a  knight. ' 
To  this  race  of  conqiierers  belongs  to-day  one  of  the  first  living 
writers  of  novels  and  romances,  fulien  Gordon. ' ' 

FRIEDERICH  SPIELHAGEN. 


A  WEDDING,  and  Other  Stories. 
POPP^EA. 

A  DIPLOMAT'S  DIARY. 

A   SUCCESSFUL   MAN. 

VAMPIRES,  AND  MADEMOISELLE   RESEDA. 

Two  stories  in  one  book. 
l2mo.     Cloth,  ^ I. oo  per  volume. 


"  The  cleverness  and  lightness  which  characterized  '  A  Diplomat's  Diary'  are 
not  wanting  in  the  later  work  of  the  American  lady  who  writes  under  the  pseudo- 
uyme  of  Juiien  Gordon.  In  her  former  story  the  dialogue  is  pointed  and  alert,  the 
characters  are  clear-cut  and  distinct,  and  the  descriptions  picturesque.  As  for  the 
main  idea  of  '  A  Successful  Man,'  the  intersection  of  two  wholly  different  strata  of 
American  life, — one  fast  and  fashionable,  the  other  domestic  and  decorous, — it  is 
worked  out  with  much  skill  and  alertness  of  treatment  to  its  inevitably  tragic 
issue." — New  York  World. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  John  Strange  Winter. 

(Mrs.  Arthur  Stannard.) 


A  Magnificent  Young  Man. 

l2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  There  is  a  happy  mingling  of  comedy  and  tragedy  in  A  Magnificent  Young 
'Ifitn.  It  is  a  story  with  an  original  plot,  involving  a  secret  marriage,  the  mysteri- 
ous disappearance  of  a  bridegroom,  and  the  experiences  of  a  young  girl,  who 
refuses  to  clear  her  reputation,  even  to  the  mother  of  her  unacknowledged  husband, 
until  such  a  time  as  he  shall  give  permission.  'I  he  plot  is  well  sustained,  the  in- 
cidents and  dialogue  are  entertaining,  and  the  mystery  is  kept  up  long  enough  to 
hold  the  close  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  last  chapter," — Boston  Becuon, 

Every  Inch  a  Soldier. 

l2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Of  the  incidents  of  the  work  before  us,  the  plot  is  highly  entertaining,  and 
incidentally  we  meet  the  Bishop  of  Blankhampton,  whose  matrimonial  affairs  were 
ably  discussed  in  a  book  previously  written.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  and  readable 
book,  and  we  are  glad  to  see  it." — K'orristown  Herald. 

Aunt  Johnnie. 

l2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mrs.  Stannard  preserves  her  freshness  and  vivacity  in  a  wonderful  way. 
'Aunt  Johnnie"  is  as  bright  and  amusing  a  story  as  any  that  she  has  written,  and 
it  rattles  on  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  with  unabated  gayety  and  vigor.  'I  he 
hero  and  heroine  are  both  charming,  and  the  frisky  matron  who  gives  the  story  its 
name  is  a  capitally  managed  character.  1  he  novel  is  exactly  suited  to  the  season, 
and  is  sure  to  be  very  popular." — Lharleston  News  and  Courier. 

The  Other  Man's  Wife. 

i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  hero  and  heroine  have  a  charm  which  is  really  unusual  in  these  hack- 
neyed personages,  for  they  are  most  attractive  and  wholesome  types.  Indeed, 
wholesomeness  may  be  said  to  be  the  most  notable  characteristic  of  this  author"* 
work." — N.  Y.  Telegram. 

Only  Human. 

I2mo.      Paper,  50  cents  ;  c!oth,  $\  00. 

"  A  bright  and  interesting  story.  ...  Its  pathos  and  humor  are  of  the 
same  admirable  quality  that  is  found  in  all  the  other  novels  by  this  author." — Boston 
Gazette.  

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister's  Translations. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $i.oo  per  volume. 


Countess  Erika's  Apprknticeship By  Ossip  Schubin. 

"O  Thou,  My  Austria!" By  Ossip  Schubin. 

Erlach  Court By  Ossip  Schubin. 

The  Alpine  Fay By  E   Werner. 

The  Owl's  Nest By  E.  Marlitt. 

Picked  Up  in  the  Streets By  H.  Schobert. 

Saint  Michael By  E-  Werner. 

ViOLETTA By  Ursula  Zoge  von  Manleufel. 

The  L,auy  with  the  Rubies By  E.  Marlitt. 

Vain  Forebodings By  E   Oswald. 

A  Penniless  Girl By  W.  Heimburg. 

QiTiCKSANDS By  Adolph  Slreckfuss. 

Banned  and  Blessed By  E.  Werner. 

A  Noble  Name By  Claire  von  Gliinier. 

From  Hand  to  Hand ...    By  Golo  Rainiund. 

Severa By  p;.  Hartner. 

A  New  Race By  Golo  Rainiund. 

The  Eichhofs By  Moritz  von  Reichenbach. 

Castle  Hohenwald By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

Margarethe By  Py.  Juncker. 

Too  Rich By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

A  Family  Feud By  Pudwig  Harder. 

The  Green  Gate By  Ernst  Wichert. 

Only  a  Girl By  Wilhehnine  von  Hillern. 

Why  Did  He  Not  Die  ? By  Ad.  von  Volckhauser. 

Hulda By  P'anny  I^ewald. 

The  Bailiff's  Maid By  E.  Marlitt. 

In  the  vSchillingscourt By  E.  Marlitt. 

Countess  Gisela By  E.  Marlitt. 

At  the  Councillor's By  E.  Marlitt. 

The  Second  Wife By  E.  Marlitt. 

The  Old  Mam'selle's  vSecret By  E.  Marlitt. 

Gold  Elsie By  PI  Marlitt. 

The  Little  Moorland  PrincI'::ss By  E.  Mailitt. 


"  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister,  through  her  many  translations  of  novels  from  the  Ger- 
man, has  established  a  reputation  of  the  highest  order  for  literary  judgment,  and  for 
a  long  time  her  name  upon  the  title-page  of  such  a  translation  has  been  a  sufficient 
gtiarantee  to  the  lovers  of  fiction  of  a  pure  and  elevating  character,  that  the  novel 
would  be  a  cherished  home  favorite.  This  faith  in  Mrs.  Wister  is  fully  justified  by 
the  fact  that  among  her  more  than  thirty  translations  that  have  been  published  by 
Lippincott's  there  has  not  been  a  single  disappointment.  .And  to  the  oxcjuisite 
judgment  of  selection  is  to  be  added  the  rare  excellence  of  her  translations,  which 
has  commanded  the  admiration  of  literary  and  linguistic  scholars." — l-ioslon  Jiavie 
Journal. 


j.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


,   By  Marie  Corelli. 

Cameos. 

Ten  Short  Stories.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $i.oo. 

The  surprising  versatility  of  Marie  Corelli  has  never  been  better  displayed  tham 
in  this  varied  group  of  short  stories  which  run  the  whole  gamut  of  feeling,  senti- 
ment, and  purpose  known  to  contemporary  fiction.  Appearing  as  they  do  almost 
sinmkaneously  with  "  The  Sorrows  of  Satan,"  that  wonderful  romance  of  nine- 
teenth-century life  which  is  the  theme  of  the  day,  alike  in  England  and  America, 
they  serve  to  mark  the  tenderness,  the  love  of  human  sentiment,  and  the  sympathy 
for  human  suffering  which  are  naturally  less  emphasized  in  the  more  powerful  and 
concentrated  novel. 

The  Sorrows  of  Satan ; 

Or,  The  Strange  Experience  of  one  Geoffrey  Tempest, 

Millionaire. 

A  Romance.  With  frontispiece  by  Van  Schaick.    i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  There  is  very  little  in  common  between  this  story  and  '  Barabbas.'  In  '  The 
Sorrows  of  Satan'  Miss  Corelli  wields  a  much  more  vigorous  pen.  She  is  full  of  her 
purpose.  Dear  me,  how  she  scathes  English  society  !  She  exposes  the  low  life  of 
nigh  life  with  a  ruthless  pen.  The  sins  of  the  fashionable  world  made  even  Satan 
sad  ;  they  were  more  than  he  could  bear,  poor  man  !  The  book  is  lively  reading, 
and  will  be  read  in  England  with  an  eager  curiosity."- — Chicago  Tribune- 

Barabbas. 

A  Dream  of  the  World's  Tragedy. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  ^i.oo. 

"A  book  which  aroused  in  some  quarters  more  violent  hostility  than  any  book 
of  recent  years.  By  most  secuUar  critics  the  authoress  was  accused  of  bad  taste, 
bad  art,  and  gross  blasphemy  ;  but,  in  curimis  contrast,  most  religious  papers 
acknowledged  the  reverence  of  treatment  and  the  dignity  of  conception  whicb 
•haracterized  the  work." — London  AthencBUtn. 

Vendetta ; 

Or,  The  Story  of  One  Forgotten. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  It  is  a  thrilling  and  irresistibly  charming  book." — Baltimore  American. 

"  The  story  is  Italian,  the  time  1884,  and  the  precise  stage  of  the  acts,  Naples, 
during  the  last  visitation  of  the  cholera.  A  romance,  but  a  romance  of  reality.  No 
mind  of  man  can  imagine  incidents  so  wonderful,  so  amazing  as  those  of  actual 
occunence.  While  the  story  is  e.\citing,  and  must  be  read  through  when  once 
begtm,  it  furnishes  a  vivid  and  impressive  picture  of  Italian  life  and  morals."^- 
IVashiii^ton  National  Republican. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Capt.  Chas.  King,  U.S.A. 

Under  Fire,  illustrated.   The  Colonel's  Daughter,  illustrated. 
Marion's  Faith,  illustrated.     Captain  Blake,  illustrated. 
Foes  in  Ambush.   (Paper,  50  cents.) 

i2mo.     Cloth,  gi.25. 


Waring's  Peril.  Trials  of  a  Staff  Officer. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  ^i.oo. 


Kitty's  Conquest. 
Starlight  Ranch,  and  Other  Stories. 
Laramie ;   or,  The  Queen  of  Bedlam. 
The  Deserter,  and  From  the  Ranks. 
Two  Soldiers,  and  Dunraven  Ranch. 
A  Soldier's  Secret,  and  An  Army  Portia. 
Captain  Close,  and  Sergeant  Croesus. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 


"  From  the  lowest  soldier  to  the  highest  officer,  from  the  servant  to 
the  master,  there  is  not  a  character  in  any  of  Captain  King's  novels 
that  is  not  wholly  in  keeping  with  expressed  sentiments.  There  is 
not  a  movement  made  on  the  field,  not  a  break  from  the  ranks,  not  an 
offence  against  the  military  code  of  discipline,  and  hardly  a  heart- 
beat that  escapes  his  watchfulness." — Boston  Herald. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Amelie  Rives. 

Barbara  Dering, 

A  Sequel  to  "The  Quick  or  the  Dead?" 
l2mo.     Qoth,  51.25. 

"  The  book  is  brilliantly  written  from  the  stand-point  of  a  young  woman  of 
observation,  experience,  feeling,  and  strong  convictions.  Her  characters  are  true  to 
life."— ^i".  Paul  Dispatch. 

"  The  conversations  of  the  principal  characters  are  full  of  that  power  which 
the  editors  of  the  Atlantic  and  of  Harper's  Monthly  found  in  Miss  Rives's  work 
in  the  early  days  of  her  writing." — Boston  Transcript. 


The  Quick  or  the  Dead  ? 

l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  No  s'.ory  ever  published  in  this  country  created  more  stir  and  controversy 
than  this  one.  By  many  the  work  has  been  pronounced  a  masterpiece  of  genius." 
—Baltimore  News. 

"  'Thb  Quick  or  the  Dead?'  "  says  the  New  York  Htrctld,  "has  made 
a  deeper  impression  on  om-  American  Uterature  than  any  work  of  fiction  since 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  " 


The  Witness  of  the  Sun. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  ^i.cxx 

"  That  Miss  Rives  has  been  thought  worthy  of  recognition  at  the  hands  of 
critics  North  and  South  is  the  strongest  evidence  of  the  fact  she  has  done  something 
out  of  the  common,  and  we  will  preface  whatever  we  have  to  write  by  saying  that 
we  are  not  among  the  least  of  her  admirers." — Chicago  Times. 

"  The  novel  is  exciting,  notably  in  its  concluding  chapters,  and  it  shows  re- 
markable facility  in  literary  expression,  especially  in  the  dialogue." — Boston 
Gazette. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  hook  is  DL'E  on  the  last  date  stamped  helow. 


RENEWAL     „PT  1  f 

RENEWAL"    „p.  „  ,      . 
-"""L     S0V2  3  197S 

PEC  1-5 1982 

<- 

„JPEWAL    NOV  121991? 
NOV  2  5 1980 

THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


\^ 


3  1 158  00507  8224 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  369  131 


